Dr. Salinger’s question jarred him out of his musings. “Right. We want to build the town’s economy on recycling. There are still piles of debris all over this mountain, and we plan to reclaim as many things as we can.”
She didn’t respond, seemed to turn inward.
“This path is lined with rubber mulch from recycled tires,” he added, driven by a sudden compulsion to impress her. “These fixtures along the path are solar lights. And the road you drove in on was paved with recycled materials. There’s something rewarding about rebuilding this town with little pieces of its own history.”
Porter caught himself—he hadn’t meant to wax poetic. Dr. Salinger made a thoughtful noise, but he had the feeling she was bored. It occurred to him that she probably didn’t care about the Armstrong brothers’ master plan for the town of Sweetness because she was planning to leave first thing tomorrow.
They topped a tree-lined rise and the meadow lay before them. The high school and gymnasium had once stood on this spot, with countless outbuildings. The tornado had obliterated this patch of land so extensively even the footers of the buildings had vanished. The brothers had found rusted basketball hoops in trees and yellow school buses nose deep in three feet of dirt. Once cleared, the plateau had become a gathering place for their men.
The barbecue was contained in an area the size of a football field outlined with tiki torches. Rows of wooden tables and benches extended from end to end. Enormous smoking grills sat at one side, emitting delicious aromas of beef and pork. Country music played from a couple of elevated outdoor speakers. It had all the makings of a good party.
Except the men of Sweetness, who outnumbered the women of Broadway more than two to one, stood to one side and conferred as if they were planning a covert mission. And the women congregated on the opposite side, as if trying to decide if they were going to put up a fight.
The women did not look happy, and based on her body language, their ringleader was letting Marcus and Kendall know why.
But what a body Rachel Hutchins had. She stood holding her little pooch with one hand, and making a point with the other hand. The woman’s tanned legs went on for miles. Porter lamented leaving her side earlier, then reminded himself that entertaining the little lady doc was for the greater good. Being in the military had trained him for self-sacrifice.
“Let’s get this party started,” Porter said loudly to interrupt.
When Rachel looked his way, her expression softened. “Porter…you made it.”
“Under doctor’s supervision,” Porter said, deferring to Dr. Salinger, who hung back.
Rachel gave Dr. Salinger a suspicious glance, then turned her attention back to the Armstrong brothers. “So…what are you going to do about it?”
“We have a few problems,” Kendall announced to Porter.
Porter almost felt sorry for his brothers—they were totally inept when it came to dealing with women. He turned a charming smile on Rachel. “Like?”
“Like the women are getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” Rachel said, her head weaving. The woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted.
“Marcus will round up bug spray,” Porter offered. “See? Problem solved. Let’s turn up the music and get everyone dancing.”
Her pretty nose wrinkled. “We don’t like this music.”
Porter’s smile wavered. “You don’t like country music?”
“If that’s what this is,” Rachel said, gesturing to the speakers playing a Toby Keith song, “then no.”
Porter balked. That could be a problem. But he tried to remain cheerful. “I’m sure we can round up some other CDs, something more…contemporary.”
Rachel held up her iPod. “Is there a dock for this in your sound system? I have some fantastic playlists with Lady Gaga.”
Porter exchanged anxious glances with his brothers. If they thought they were facing mutiny from the men before the women arrived, a Lady Gaga song would send the men stampeding.
“Kendall will check for you,” Porter assured her. With no small amount of relief, he remembered the ace up their sleeve—good Southern food would calm the savage females. “I know everyone must be hungry—just wait until you taste Bubba King’s ribs.”
Rachel crossed her long shapely arms, inadvertently pushing up her cleavage. “I hope you have something on the grill other than cow and pig. At least half of us are vegetarians.”
Porter dragged his gaze away from her chest. “V-vegetarians?”
“Some are vegan.”
“Vegan?”
“And we have a few fruitarians.”
Porter was hit with the sudden and awful realization that the Armstrong boys had gotten in way over their heads. He’d made a big mess of things by injuring himself and almost scaring off their only doctor in one fell swoop. Because of his miscalculations, hot water would have to be rationed. And he’d grossly underestimated the logistics of folding a group of women into their primitive, rural environment.
Marcus and Kendall looked at him with expressions that said, “Now what?”
Porter looked to the heavens, hoping for divine inspiration. Instead he got a fat raindrop in the eye. Within seconds, a deluge descended, extinguishing the torches and sending the women squealing and running for cover, slipping and sliding in the instant mud that formed when water met the red soil.
A small hand touched his arm. He looked up to find Dr. Salinger standing there, drenched. “Let me help you back to the trail!” she shouted over the pounding rain.
Porter was rooted to the spot, and his tongue seemed paralyzed. Her green eyes were huge in her fine-boned face. Her white shirt had turned transparent, clinging to her slender curves and leaving little to the imagination. Little lady doc was…hot.
“We got him, doc,” Kendall shouted, as he and Marcus positioned themselves on either side of Porter and literally lifted him off his feet. “Save yourself!”
She turned and was soon lost in the confusion of fleeing bodies crisscrossing the field. Shrieks filled the air and mud was flying. It was ugly.
As Porter watched the bedlam, Marcus’s comment about unleashing another natural disaster on the town by importing women came back to him with clanging clarity.
At this rate, the town of Sweetness would be a ghost town before it even opened for business.
10
“You disconnected her fuel pump?” Marcus asked, his eyes bulging. “That was the best idea you could come up with?”
“Shh!” Porter leaned heavily on his crutches and looked around as they stood in the rear of the dining hall. Dozens of perturbed women were in the breakfast line in front of them, and everyone knew that women’s ears were as keen as a bat’s. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The doc’s still here, isn’t she?”
“Well, her van is,” Marcus said. “After the reception she got yesterday, I wouldn’t blame her if she parachuted out of here at first light.”
“Knock it off, both of you,” Kendall said, chopping his hand in the air. “We’ve got bigger problems. Last night’s fiasco at the barbecue proved we have to get this situation under control. We can’t even feed these women.”
“We have plenty of food,” Marcus said with a frown. “It’s just not gourmet.”
A commotion at the front of the line seemed to bear out Marcus’s statement. Rachel Hutchins, armed with her impertinent little dog, appeared to be having some kind of confrontation with Colonel Molly.
By silent consensus, the men headed to the front, with Porter trying to keep up. “By the way, my leg hurts like hell, thanks for asking.”
“Good,” Marcus tossed over his shoulder.
They skidded to a halt in front of the cafeteria-style serving line at what appeared to be just in time. From the body language of the tall, lithe Rachel and the short, solid Molly, they were on the verge of hand-to-hand combat.
“Good morning, ladies,” Kendall said smoothly. “Is there a problem?”
Molly waved her wooden spoon at Rachel. “Miss Uppity her
e wants proof that the fruit cup is organic.”
Rachel glared. “Judging from the slop you’re trying to pass off as oatmeal, I don’t think it’s out of line to ask if the fruit has been washed in pesticides before I put it in my mouth.”
The women behind Rachel chorused agreement.
Molly’s face turned red and she balled up a fist. “I’ve got something for that mouth of yours!”
“How dare you threaten me!” Rachel shrieked. The little dog barked at Molly in rapid-fire yelps.
“And there are no varmints allowed in my mess hall!” Molly bellowed, pointing to the door.
“Ladies, ladies,” Kendall soothed. “Let’s talk this through like rational adults.”
Porter winced at his brother’s word choice and took a step back.
Rachel and Molly both turned on Kendall. “Are you saying I’m not rational?” demanded Rachel.
“Inviting these women here was irrational!” Molly boomed.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Believe me, we’re all starting to regret coming!”
The women backed Rachel up, then began chanting, “We want yogurt! We want yogurt!”
Porter glanced at Kendall, who seemed at a loss for words. Then he glanced at Marcus, who looked as if he was ready to levitate out of there. Porter had to do something—quick.
He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud, piercing whistle.
Everything stopped.
“Ladies,” Porter said, leaning heavily on his crutches for effect and spreading his smile around like warm cream cheese. “The Armstrong brothers would like to invite everyone to a town meeting. You can air all your grievances, and we can share all our plans for rebuilding the town of Sweetness, which, you’ll be glad to know, include an organic garden.”
Rachel’s body language loosened toward him. “When and where is this meeting?”
“Uh…here…this afternoon.” He flashed her a proprietary smile. “Pets are welcome, of course.”
She gave him a reluctant smile. “I guess it can’t hurt—we’ve come this far.”
“Good,” Porter said. “For now, trust me, ladies, eating canned fruit for one day isn’t going to wreck your lovely figures.” Winks all around and a salute for Molly smoothed ruffled feathers. Everyone got back in line for breakfast and played nice…for the time being.
Marcus and Kendall pulled him aside. “What was all that?”
“How can we expect these women to stay and help us build Sweetness if they don’t understand the big picture? They don’t know what we’ve already done, and what’s coming down the pike. We need to get everyone together and have a dog and pony show, like when we convinced the communications company to install the cell tower, and the state park system to buy our mulch.”
“Planting an organic garden is way down on the list,” Kendall reminded him.
“I didn’t even know it was on the list,” Marcus interjected.
“We have a hundred extra hands,” Porter reminded them. He gestured to the women standing in line for food—the irritable, sour-faced bunch was a far cry from the excited, smiling group that had arrived the day before. “We hooked them with a clever ad, but now we’re going to have to reel them in on the idea of Sweetness as their home and get them invested in the work we have to do.”
Marcus closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. At that moment, Porter was pretty sure his brother was entertaining the idea of leaving the mountain himself. Finally, Marcus opened his eyes and heaved a sigh. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“That’s the spirit,” Porter said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Marcus frowned. “Make sure Dr. Salinger is at the meeting.”
“We can get her input on the clinic we’re going to build,” Kendall said.
Porter was looking past them to Rachel Hutchins, who had carried her breakfast to a nearby table and was giving him the look saying she wouldn’t mind if he joined her. She crossed her long, tanned legs.
Marcus boxed his ear. “Porter, are you listening?”
He dragged his gaze back to his brothers. “I heard you. I’m going to look for the little lady doc now.”
“You might want to dial up the enthusiasm a notch,” Kendall said.
“Yeah, what happened to that lady-killer charm of yours?” Marcus asked.
Porter sighed. “She’s a bit of a cold fish.”
“Too much of a challenge for you?” Kendall asked.
Porter’s pulse spiked. “No. I got this.”
He left the dining hall in an ill temper. So far nothing was going as planned.
As he hobbled across the road, he checked to make sure the doctor’s white extended van was still on the shoulder where two of the workers had pushed it. He told himself he was relieved because of what his brothers would do to him if the good doctor left…and not because of anything else.
Like how good Nikki Salinger had looked the previous night when she’d stopped to ask if she could help him find cover. The image of her standing there, rain-soaked and luminous in a transparent shirt, had kept him awake long after his aching body wanted to surrender to sleep.
Again, nothing was going as planned.
Thank goodness the rain had stopped sometime during the night. The sun was on its climb, but the downpour had left everything saturated and steamy. Marcus had ordered a crew of men to spread sawdust and gravel in the muddy walkways between the rooming house and the dining hall.
Clusters of women were leaving the boardinghouse, heading toward the diner. “Town meeting in the dining hall this afternoon,” Porter said as he passed them. “Town meeting, everyone welcome.”
As he entered the house, he kept an eye out for Nikki, but didn’t see her in the great room, the kitchen or the laundry room where women were spreading out muddied clothing and shoes to dry. He decided against telling them they were better off just to burn the clothes or relegate them to the rag bag—the red Georgia clay was more permanent than dye. Instead he told them about the town meeting and kept moving.
Porter lumbered through the hallway and on to the back room, where he found Nikki sorting through boxes of supplies. She wore chinos and a pink polo shirt and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Good morning,” he called.
She looked up, but didn’t seem particularly glad to see him. “Maybe if I’d gotten a hot shower.”
“I’m working on that,” he fibbed.
“Are you also working on getting my van repaired?”
“Soon,” he promised.
“How soon?” she pressed. “Today?”
“The mechanic who takes care of our work vehicles is going to make it a priority.”
She seemed satisfied, if not pleased.
“I came to tell you about the town meeting.”
She turned back to a box. “What town meeting?”
“There’s a town meeting in the dining hall this afternoon.”
“Why would I want to be there? I’m not staying, remember?”
Alarm blipped in his chest. “Does anyone else know that?”
“No.” She looked up again. “Why would it matter?”
“Having a doctor in town will make everyone feel safer about living up here.”
“You’ll find another physician. Someone more…suitable.” She stopped and dusted her hands on her pants. “How are you feeling?”
He was tempted to man up and tell her he was feeling fine, but it occurred to him that she might feel compelled to stay if she thought her services were needed.
“Not so good.”
Her concern was immediate. Boxes forgotten, she walked toward him. “Do you have a fever?” She put her small cool hand to his forehead.
“I don’t know…I feel warm.” Not a lie, considering how close she was standing to him. The image of her breasts outlined in a wet shirt was imprinted on his brain.
“Have a seat,” she said, removing a box from a chair. “I want to take your temperature.”
He lowered himself into the chair, conceding it felt good to get his weight off his injured leg. Nikki came back and thrust a thermometer in his mouth, then leaned over to listen to his lungs with a stethoscope. To get his heart racing, he dropped his gaze to her chest.
“Your pulse is elevated,” she murmured, then she took out a penlight and shined it in his eyes.
“Look straight ahead, please.”
He did. She smelled good, like something he’d like to lick…or nibble…or taste—
“Any dizziness or nausea?”
“No.” Then he remembered his plan to exaggerate his symptoms. “Not at the moment.”
She pulled back, her eyebrows furrowed. “But you did before?”
“Um…some.”
Her mouth tightened. “I think you should go to a hospital for a full workup.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, backpedaling.
“Still…you could have a concussion, or other injuries I don’t have the equipment to detect. Your health isn’t worth the risk.”
The intelligence and the compassion in her eyes was a heady combination. He marveled at the encyclopedia of information that must be filed away in her quick mind. The long hours of studying and the dedication necessary to become a physician were staggering to him. At first glance, Nikki Salinger seemed too fragile for such an undertaking, and such a demanding job. But upon closer inspection, the woman was as tough as a reed.
And as gentle as a morning glory.
“I’ll go to a hospital,” he agreed, “if I start feeling sick again.”
Her mouth flattened. “Are you taking your pain killers with food?”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” he offered. “After the barbecue got rained out, I went back to the barracks and crashed. Haven’t had much food on my stomach.”
She made a chiding noise. “You need to stay nourished so your body can heal.”
“I haven’t had breakfast yet. Why don’t you join me?”
“I had a protein bar. Mr. Armstrong, would it be possible to borrow a vehicle?”
He panicked. “What for?”
She lifted the hem of her shirt to tap a phone clipped to the waist of her pants. Porter was riveted by the glimpse of a flat stomach and nipped waist.
Baby, Drive South Page 7