by Mindy Neff
Using his key, Chance unlocked the door and turned on the lights. The smell of antiseptic and adhesive permeated the air, familiar scents that were as much a part of his world as the smell of springtime or his mother’s apple pie.
Anxious to check out the cut on his head himself, he went to a mirror and inspected the wound, still thoroughly annoyed that he’d let the accident happen in the first place. He knew better than to get behind an animal the way he had.
“Think you can sew it up on your own?” Kelly asked as she waited patiently for him to step away from the mirror.
“Maybe it doesn’t need stitches.”
She sighed and shook her head. “The curse of a doctor. Wants to diagnose himself. You make the worse kind of patient.”
“Well, how many times have you had stitches?”
“Twice.” She held up her left palm, showing him both of the scars within inches of each other. “Had a run-in with a chisel in high school wood shop. The other’s where I slipped with a scalpel in biology lab.”
“Ouch. Not a great recommendation from where I’m sitting.”
She raised a brow. “That was ages ago in high school and med school. I’ve improved some since then. Besides, that donkey did a fine job of opening up your head, so there’ll be no need for me to pick up a scalpel. Now will you sit down before you fall? You look like you’re going to faint.”
“I’m not going to faint.” He hadn’t meant to sound so indignant.
“Such a tough guy.” She moved around the room, gathering disinfectant, sterile drapes, gloves, a syringe, needle and suture thread.
Chance took off his coat and the shepherd costume, then eased a hip onto the fresh sheet of sterile paper covering the examining table, watching the efficient way Kelly moved.
He usually saw her in nursing clothes, her hair held back in a bun or a clip. Tonight she wore figure-hugging designer jeans, a soft wool sweater that barely reached the waistband of her jeans, and trendy chunky boots.
Her dark-blond hair hung loose around her shoulders, the overhead lamp picking up the shifting highlights. Her full lips had a natural pink tint, enhanced by gloss.
A mouth made for slow deep kisses.
Oh, man. He shifted on the table, crinkling the paper covering, trying to stop those kinds of thoughts. But a thousand questions were racing through his mind.
She lined up instruments on a sterile drape atop a stainless steel tray, then opened the drug cabinet and made her selection with hardly a second glance.
Why hadn’t he seen the signs sooner? He’d felt lucky to have her, marveled at her efficiency, but he’d never suspected Kelly Anderson was a doctor.
She put on a lab coat, scrubbed her hands and snapped on a pair of gloves. Turning, she caught him staring.
“Why would you pass yourself off as an assistant when you’re a doctor?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Obviously. I’m asking you to share them.”
“You want to lie down so we can get this over with?”
He arched a brow, swore when the movement made his wound sting, then managed a grin. “A beautiful woman asks me to lie down, then in the same breath wants to get it over with. We could spend an evening making something of that statement, Hollywood.”
She waited until he obeyed her directive, then set about cleansing the wound. “You ought to be worried about my sewing skills, not thinking about sex.”
“Just looking at you makes me think about sex.” The antiseptic on the laceration stung, and he flinched.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “You really want to keep up this particular line of conversation?”
“Make you nervous?”
She gave him a direct look, set down the swab and picked up a syringe. “I haven’t had sex in well over a year. You being a doctor and all, I think you probably covered the same psych courses I did, know the body’s typical reaction to visual, oral or mental stimulus. Whether I want to have sex with you or not, I’m likely to tremble nonetheless just from the direction of this conversation. Seeing as I’m the one in control of the stitches and the size of your scar, do you want to take that chance? Close your eyes—this is going to hurt a little.”
He didn’t heed her directive, but kept his gaze firmly on hers. “Why do I think you’re going to enjoy inflicting that hurt?”
She smiled and injected anesthetic in several spots around the wound.
She had a gentle touch, but it was still painful, and Chance decided he was going to be more conscious of his patients’ feelings from now on. He’d gotten so used to dispensing medical care, he rarely thought about what the person on the receiving end actually felt.
Oh, he knew certain procedures hurt. But it was one thing to tell someone something was going to sting, and quite another to actually feel that sting.
She set the syringe aside and sat down on a rolling stool, giving the medication a chance to numb.
“So, how’d you end up in Shotgun Ridge?” he asked. And why haven’t you had sex in more than a year?
“My father is a friend of Ozzie Peyton’s.”
“I might have known. I figured something was up with those old guys.”
“You know my father?”
“No. I meant Ozzie, Lloyd Brewer, Vern Tillis and Henry Jenkins. The town matchmakers.”
“What do they have to do with my dad? And matchmaking?”
“I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that I was their next target. I think you got caught in the crossfire if your dad was conversing with Ozzie. They sent you to me.”
She looked away and her eyes went incredibly sad. “I don’t think so. My dad knows I’m not looking for a relationship. I just went through a trying one.”
“Divorce?”
“Death.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry.” He’d assumed she was divorced. And now he felt bad about coming on to her so strongly over the past month. He’d known there were secrets in her life, but he’d had no idea she might be mourning a husband. In his own defense, he reminded himself that he had asked about her marital status. She’d emphatically told him there was no man in her life and she wanted to keep it that way.
She acknowledged his sympathy with a nod, then rose and probed at the skin around his wound. “How’s it feeling?”
“Getting numb.”
“We’ll give it another minute or two.”
“How long ago did your husband die?”
“Six months.”
“That’s rough. For you and your girls.”
She leaned a hip against the examining table, gazed down at him. “That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“To heal?”
“For the girls to heal. Kimmy saw her father die. She hasn’t spoken since.”
Chance swore. “Nobody should witness that, especially a child. How did it happen?”
“Electrocution. He was using a faulty drill motor and had the bad sense to ground himself against a metal pipe.”
She said it matter-of-factly, but the stark pain that flashed in her eyes told a different story. He reached out and touched the thick wool fabric of her sleeve where her lab coat had ridden up. “Kelly, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She probed his wound again. “You’ll probably have a scar. I’ll take small stitches, though, and we’ll hold our breath.” She paused with the needle suspended above his brow. “Don’t frown. I really am good at this.”
“That’s not why I’m frowning.”
She sighed. “I know.”
Covering his face with a drape, leaving only a small opening where the laceration was exposed, he felt the slight numbed tug as she took small stitches, using a silk so fine it would hardly be seen.
Her concentration was complete; even though Chance couldn’t see her face, he knew it. He could tell by the shift of her body, the competence of her hands, that she knew her business, could probably do these stitches in her sleep. Silence surrounded them, broken only by the whisper o
f fabric and the clink of metal against metal as instruments were picked up and laid down again.
She smelled like crisp fresh air, Betadine solution and a subtle hint of floral perfume.
He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, hated being out of control this way, hated that someone else was taking care of him. He was the caregiver. The healer.
And Kelly needed care, even though he knew she would deny it. She needed arms around her. He had an idea there was much more to her story than she let on. The undercurrents of what she’d left unsaid fairly shouted.
“All done,” Kelly announced. “The donkey was polite. He put his hoof in just the right place. I didn’t even have to shave off your eyebrow or any hair.”
Chance sat up slowly, testing his reaction. “I don’t know if I’d call the thing polite or not.”
Kelly checked his pulse, shone a light in his eyes, then dressed his wound. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“I’m fine.” He wanted to forget this whole donkey incident as quickly as possible. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask. No guarantee I’ll answer.”
“I’m kind of hung up on that statement about sex you made. You said it’d been well over a year. You meant six months, right?”
She gave him a look filled with disappointment. “Please tell me you’re not one of those guys who think every divorced or widowed woman is hard up for sex and is an easy target.”
“Damn it, you know me better than that.”
The defensiveness drained out of her like the release of a blood-pressure cuff. Her shoulders sagged as though the burdens were too heavy to hold.
“Steve lost interest in intimacy months before he died. At least with me. Turns out he was getting his needs satisfied elsewhere—with my best friend.”
“Ah, hell.”
She shrugged off his commiseration as though she’d shut the door on that chapter of her life and never intended to open it again. And judging by the now-rigid angle of her shoulders and the slight lift of her chin, he knew better than to push for more on that bombshell she’d just dropped.
“You could have a slight concussion,” she said. “Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”
It took a moment for him to switch conversational gears. He’d all but forgotten his injury.
Despite her professional no-nonsense tone, vulnerability radiated from her. She’d kept to herself and been so independent since she’d come to Shotgun Ridge that he couldn’t bear the thought of her isolating herself again tonight. Especially since Jessica and Kimberly were spending the night at the Strattons. Kelly would be totally alone.
“You could stay with me,” he suggested.
“I wasn’t offering.”
“As my doctor, don’t you think it’d be a good idea?”
“You’re pushing it, ace.” But her medical training was obviously at war with her good sense. “Seriously, is there someone you can call?”
“No. Come home with me.” Let me take care of you.
“Said the spider to the fly. I’ll make some calls.”
“Folks have got their own families to tend to.”
“What about your family?” she asked.
“They live in Helena.”
“Mmm, that’s a pretty long drive.”
“Yeah, and I probably shouldn’t get behind the wheel just now. Maybe you could run me home.”
“I don’t know how to drive a sleigh.”
He smiled at her slight hesitation. She was close to surrendering. “My truck’s out back. Cheyenne brought the sleigh into town. I borrowed it to come pick you up.”
“So I wasn’t actually on your way, was I.”
“I don’t recall telling you that you were. If I remember, I said your chariot was waiting.” He saw her chest rise as she took a deep breath.
“You’ll probably be all right on your own. Though the brief loss of consciousness you had worries me some.”
“I like that you’re worried about me,” he said softly.
“Chance.” Her tone held a warning.
He didn’t heed it. “As doctors, you and I both know the odds of complications are slim. But would we take the risk if the circumstances were different? I imagine if I was the attending physician, I’d suggest an overnight hospital stay if my patient didn’t have family to monitor him.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Want me to run you into Billings and check you in?”
He grinned. “My place is closer. And I happen to like your bedside manner.”
“You’re not helping your case, talking like that.”
“I know.” His expression cleared, all the flirting gone. “I shouldn’t be baiting you like this, after…well, I’m sorry.” He eased down off the examining table, stood and swayed a bit.
She reached out to steady him. “Hand over the keys, Hammond.”
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to make sure you stay that way through the night. Do you have a spare bedroom?”
“Five of them.”
“Five?”
“I know. Big place for just me to rattle around in.”
“Have you ever…lived with anyone?”
“Been married, you mean? No.”
“Smart man. Let’s go.”
He touched her shoulder. “You’re bitter.”
“Bitter’s not the right word. Wiser, I guess. Surprised I could make such a huge mistake. Devastated that my children are suffering and I can’t fix it. I know where I’ve been, Chance. And I know where I’m going—for the next little while, at least. I’ve got two children to take care of. They’re my sole focus. I’ve pinned my hopes on this town. Tonight, your injury aside, makes me believe I’ve made the right choice, that I’m on the right road. The girls came alive this evening. I realize I’ve been keeping to myself since I’ve been here, and that’s the wrong thing to do. I’ve got to get involved a little, get them involved. Something’s got to click with Kimmy. It just has to.”
Despite his intention otherwise, he drew her into his arms. He felt her stiffen, and soothed her. “Shh. Everybody needs a hug now and again. And since my head’s hurting like a son of a gun, I figure I needed one.”
She gave a muffled laugh against his shoulder. “You’re so full of it, Doc.”
“Yeah.” He eased her away. “Thanks for the hug, Doc.”
She gazed at him for a long moment. “You’re welcome. Now give me your truck keys so I can get you home.”
Chapter Three
Chance’s house was bigger than Kelly’s expensive bungalow in Beverly Hills. The price tag on her three-bedroom place was close to a million. If you plunked this house anywhere in Southern California, it would cost at least five times that, way more than she could afford.
Several acres of property housed the sprawling brick house, stables, winter-bare trees and what looked like a frozen stream that meandered parallel to the long driveway.
She parked Chance’s truck in the garage and reached over to lay a hand on his arm. “We’re here.”
He sat up and tugged at his hat. “Did I nod off?”
“Just for a few minutes.”
“Sorry about that. Let’s go inside where it’s not so cold.”
Kelly liked the interior of the house as much as the exterior. The rooms were spacious, with comfortable leather furniture, wood floors and bookshelves holding medical reference books, as well as the latest bestsellers. He had beautiful artwork on the walls—whimsical fairies painted on canvas. Not what she would have expected. She recognized the artist’s work. She’d always admired Judith Hammond’s style…
“Hammond?” she said aloud.
“My mom.”
“Good heavens, she’s famous.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but I try not to let it go to my head.”
When he grinned like that, he was simply too charming. So she looked away, hiding her own smile, and continued to assess
the room. On every available surface were framed photographs—a lot of them babies. Another surprise. She went over to examine the ones that rested atop the upright piano.
“Those are kids I’ve delivered.”
“Mmm.” There were names on each photo, some in standard frames, others framed with artistic flair, and always a personal note of thanks to Dr. Hammond.
What would it be like, she wondered, to walk through town and see all the children you’d helped bring into the world? Watch them grow and flourish, face heartache and joy? See them take their first steps, attend their first day of school, their first prom, experience their first brush with love?
She could hardly imagine a scenario like that in Los Angeles.
But she wasn’t in Los Angeles now. She was in a quaint town where neighbors all seemed like one big family, and the town doctor proudly displayed pictures of babies as though they were much-loved nieces and nephews.
A pang of longing swept over her, and Kelly set down the framed photo. She glanced up as Chance bent over to stoke the fire in the fireplace.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me do that?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“No, but you thought you needed looking after.”
“So did you,” he reminded.
“Then that puts me in charge.” She took the brass fireplace poker from him and urged him toward the cushy leather chair. “Sit.”
“Bossy woman,” he murmured, but obeyed. “I can’t believe I let this happen. I work with animals all the time.”
She smiled. “Four-legged or two?”
“Both. I’ve handled my share of mean drunks. I’ve also been known to stand in for the vet in a pinch—and vice versa.”
She eased down on the cushions of the sofa. “I actually saved a kitten once. I was working the E.R. and the paramedics brought a family in from a fire. The little boy was clutching a kitten. The medics hadn’t had a chance to see to the animal because their hands were full. I put an oxygen mask over its little mouth and did finger CPR. It was incredible.”
Chance leaned his head back against the chair, watching her with a gentle smile on his face. “Doesn’t matter what kind of life it is, saving them is why we’re in this business, isn’t it?”