by Iris Morland
She’d finally met with Ruth and been honest with her. They would never be the best of friends, but Megan knew she couldn’t shut out her mother for the rest of her life. They both needed to heal, and Megan couldn’t stay angry any longer. Life was too short to hold onto that kind of bitterness.
The Thornton clan—including Lisa Thornton, to everyone’s surprise—had welcomed Megan. Lisa would never be a warm mother-in-law by any means—baking cookies and offering to babysit future grandchildren—but Megan considered it a boon that she had finally decided to let her children live their lives.
Well, at least for the time being.
Megan and Caleb had only fallen further in love with each other. Every day somehow eclipsed the one before it. Their nights—and days—were filled with passion, and every hour with love. Megan never knew her heart could be as full as it was now. How had she ever thought she could live without this man?
Now, Caleb assessed her. “What exactly are you saying?”
She turned to finish rolling out her dough. “I’m saying that it seems silly to live in two separate houses when we see each other almost every day. It would be more economical to combine incomes—”
He turned her toward him. “You want to move in together?”
She couldn’t gauge his reaction, and it sent a flurry of panic through her. Maybe he didn’t want to live with her? Or he thought it was too soon? She scrambled for a reply, but he spoke first.
“I’ll move in with you, on one condition.”
She blinked. “What?”
“That you marry me first.”
Her world shifted on its axis, but in the best possible way. For so many years she never thought she’d find a man she’d fall in love with, let alone marry and live together for the rest of her life. But she knew this was right—not just right, but perfect.
She smiled so wide that her cheeks ached. “Are you proposing?” she couldn’t help but tease.
For the first time, he seemed unsure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “I had planned on doing it the usual way, but you surprised me.”
“Well, then, I’ll wait until you have everything put together. I can’t say yes to a sort-of proposal. And where’s my ring? I can’t be a fiancée without a ring on my finger.”
His lips twitched. And then, before she could react, he dipped his hands into the bag of flour on the counter and smeared it down her arms and chest.
“You jerk!” she cried out, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Is this how you propose to a woman? You’re terrible at it!”
Yanking her into his arms, he touched his nose to hers. “Yeah, but you love me anyway, right?”
“I guess I do.” She sighed.
He nipped at her mouth, and when he kissed her, she knew without a doubt that regardless of Caleb’s proposal skills, they would live happily ever after—covered in flour or not.
When Abby Davison, resident nurse at Fair Haven Memorial, looked at the chart handed to her by the physician on call, she couldn’t stop the annoyed hiss escaping from her mouth.
Mark Thornton.
Of course he was here. Of course he had a broken arm and—surprise!—she would be the nurse attending him.
She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she told Dr. Smythe she couldn’t attend this patient. Sorry, Doc, but he’s a Grade-A asshole who insulted me for no reason and I’m still mad about it. His arm can stay broken for all I care.
Yeah, that would totally work.
Abby had known her fair share of asshole men. Her ex Derek had been one of them. When he’d broken up with her because she wasn’t the image of feminine beauty he’d wanted—also known as skinny and blonde with fake boobs—he’d done a number on her self-esteem. Abby had never been what anyone would call skinny, and although she’d gotten to a point that she’d not minded her curves, her ex had destroyed any good self-image she’d managed to create.
After her break-up, she’d given up on men. Men only hurt you, and she didn’t have time for that kind of BS. She had her job, which she loved, and she had her friends and family.
She winced when she thought of her family, that same family that asked her every time they saw her when she was going to find a man and get married. As if that was the pinnacle of a woman’s achievement in life. Had her mother skipped Feminism 101? Apparently so.
Within the past month, her mother had become relentless, setting her up on dates with men that were not even remotely her type. The type of men who texted their mothers at the table, or who gave her detailed accounts of their various surgeries when they found out she was a nurse. Abby was to the point of being so desperate to avoid another one of her mother’s dating schemes that she’d signed up for online dating just to find a random guy she could present as her boyfriend to give herself a breather.
It was a terrible idea, of course, but desperation tended to breed terrible ideas.
When she’d first seen Mark Thornton, though, she had to admit to herself that he was handsome: darkly handsome, in a mysterious kind of way. He was clearly the black sheep of the family. What had made him separate himself from them like that? She knew Lisa Thornton was a force to be reckoned with, but her other children hadn’t distanced themselves like Mark apparently had.
Of course, she was basing this off of seeing him only a handful of times. But after years as a nurse and working with a variety of people, Abby had discovered that first impressions generally gave a fairly accurate picture of people.
And her first impression of Mark? Surly. Rude. Thoughtless. He’d insulted her and called her a “mousy nurse.”
What an asshole. She was glad she had had the courage to call him an asshole to his face. She had a feeling very few people ever did.
But Abby had never been the type of person to hold onto grudges for too long, and she knew that allowing Mark to know his words had affected her would only give him some kind of twisted enjoyment. She put on a calm, professional smile as she entered his hospital room
“Mr. Thornton,” she said, “it looks like your arm is broken. I’ll be the nurse putting on your cast. I’ll go over aftercare and help you set up follow-up appointments. You’ll have the cast removed within two months, as long as the break seems to be setting well.”
Mark, in all his handsome glory, scowled mightily from his hospital bed. He looked like he’d been run over by a tractor, although according to his chart, he’d been thrown from his horse. She wondered why he’d come all the way to Fair Haven when he lived an hour away, but apparently he’d broken his arm last night and, after driving up to Fair Haven, had only just decided to get his arm looked at.
Typical male.
“Is a cast really necessary?”
His voice made the hairs on her arms stand on end, and it sent a pleasant shiver through her body. Yes, he’s handsome. Remember, he’s also a total jerk.
“It is, unless you want the break to heal at a weird angle, thus making it difficult, if not impossible, to use your arm like you would’ve previously. Or, even worse, we would have to re-break your arm and reset it, which I can assure you, is not a nice process.”
He glowered, but he finally grunted in agreement. Gathering the necessary items, Abby set to work, and although Mark wasn’t a chatty patient by any means, he wasn’t a difficult one. Even when she knew he was in pain—his face drawn and his forehead beaded with sweat—he didn’t once complain. She’d had men twice his size burst into tears when she’d reset their bones, but not Mark.
Impressed despite herself, she couldn’t help but go a little easier on him after she’d finished placing the cast on his arm.
“I’ll have Dr. Smythe give you a prescription for Vicodin that you can take as often as needed, although don’t operate heavy machinery or drink while taking it. It can make you sleepy, so I always caution patients to start with a small dose.”
“I don’t need it,” he said as he moved to stand up from the bed. At her surprised look, he added, “Painkill
ers make me sick. I have to get back to work, and I can’t be falling asleep while wrangling my horses.” His tone was irritated, like she was wasting his time while trying to do her job.
Any sympathy she had for him melted away like ice under a hot lamp. “Well, you don’t have to take it, but I’ll get you the script just in case,” she said primly. She made a note on his chart. “Let me go get Dr. Smythe.”
“Wait.”
She turned, raising an eyebrow. What is it now?
“Look, I don’t know what you have against me—”
Now her eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline.
“But whatever it is, can we just let bygones be bygones?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but she was so stunned by not only his lack of apology but his placing the blame squarely on her that she couldn’t think of anything to say.
He seemed to sense her disquiet because he shifted uncomfortably. She had to admit he looked rather pathetic, his arm in a huge cast, his face pale and covered in stubble. He winced when he tried to stand.
The nurse in her couldn’t let a patient hurt himself, even if she disliked that patient as a person.
“Don’t try to stand yet,” she advised before helping him to sit down again. “You’ve been through a fairly traumatic injury, and getting a cast set is painful. Don’t push yourself too hard or you’ll only extend your recovery.”
He practically growled when she touched him, almost rearing back. “I don’t need your help,” he snapped.
She rather wished she could shove his head into a bucket, but she gritted her teeth and kept her cool as she assisted him back onto the bed. And to her intense annoyance, she couldn’t help but notice the coiled strength in his torso and how he smelled like horses and sweat. What would it be like to have a man like this take you into his arms? Kiss you until you saw stars?
As their gazes caught, he seemed to sense the same electricity between them. Her hand was placed near his heart, and it thumped beneath her palm. His eyes darkened—a green so dark they seemed black—and she saw that although his face was hard and his jaw was like iron, his lips were well-formed. Soft.
Maybe you just haven’t been kissed by the right man yet. His words echoed in her mind.
She almost jolted away, but she forced herself to help him onto the bed. She practically jumped away from him once she saw that he was settled.
Confused and ill at ease, she muttered, “I’ll get the doctor now,” before she hurried from the room.
Mark knew he’d fucked up. Seriously fucked up, and he didn’t know how to make it better. He’d pissed off the pretty nurse, and he only made things worse every time she came near him.
Why did she have to be the one to see him like this? Grumpy, in pain, and off his game?
He grumbled, punching the pillow behind him. He waited for Abby to return like a good patient, but after almost fifteen minutes had passed, his patience waned. He didn’t even need those damn painkillers. Rising from the bed with a pained grunt, he gathered his things and was about to leave his room when he heard Abby’s voice in the hallway.
“Mom, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m at work.”
“How else can I talk to you? You never answer my calls or texts. It’s like I don’t exist!” The woman’s voice was shrill, and Mark winced at the sound.
“I’m sorry. I’m just busy.” Abby’s voice was cajoling, although she also sounded annoyed. “I need to go, okay? I’ll call you tonight.”
“I’m here because I set you up with a great date—no, don’t give me that face, he’s a podiatrist from Bellingham and he’s an amazing catch—”
Mark’s ears perked. Abby’s mother was setting her up on dates? He had a hard time imagining her needing help to find a man. For all he knew, she had scores of men lining up to touch that gorgeous body, those full lips, those creamy breasts…
“Mom, no. I told you no more dates.”
“But you’re twenty-eight! When will you finally settle down, Abby? When you’re fifty? I’ll be dead by then. I’ll never get to meet my grandkids!”
Mark rolled his eyes, and he could imagine Abby doing the same.
But then his eyes only widened when he heard Abby’s next statement:
“You don’t need to set me up on a date because I’ve met a guy. We’ve just started going out.”
Her mother gasped. “Who is it? Do I know him?”
“No, but you know his family.” After a beat of hesitation, Abby said as clear as day, “His name is Mark Thornton.”
The End
Thank you for reading The Very Thought of You! I hope you loved Megan and Caleb’s story.
And don’t miss Abby and Mark’s story in If I Can’t Have You.
Abby Davison only wants to focus on her career as a nurse, as she has no time for dating after a bad breakup over a year ago. When her mother presses her about settling down, Abby tells her a little white lie: she’s dating Mark Thornton, the handsome and gruff rancher who both frustrates and makes her heart flutter every time they meet.
When Mark overhears Abby's lie, he decides to cut her a deal: to keep his silence regarding their make-believe relationship, she'll come to live with him on his ranch until his broken arm heals.
One-click If I Can’t Have You now!
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Enjoy this exclusive excerpt
From If I Can’t Have You
Abby couldn't help but consider this as an adventure. Mark was paying her, and although her nursing job paid the bills, any extra cash was welcome.
"I kind of feel like Belle in Beauty and the Beast," she remarked. "I almost expected the wardrobe to talk to me, or for a candlestick to start dancing."
"I've never seen that movie."
She looked at him in shock. "Seriously? Not even as a kid? That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. It's one of my favorites."
He grunted, looking uncomfortable. "I don't get cartoons. Anyway, do you need anything else? I need to get back to work."
"Well, I guess, what do you want me to do? You are paying me. I guess you're my boss now."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Whatever you think is best. I'm not going to give you a list of tasks or anything." Before he left, he added, "And I'll pay you two thousand a week. That all right?"
"That's fine," she replied, a little stunned.
He nodded and left her alone again.
If he were the beast in this scenario, he was doing a terrible job of it. Two thousand a week? He must be crazy.
"Isn't he supposed to lock me up in his dungeon or something?" she asked both cats. "Demand that I stay with him if I want my dying father to go free? Not pay me an exorbitant amount of money to sleep in his guest room?"
Wentworth ignored her and instead threw himself at the window screen when a bug flew past.
Abby decided to explore. Once again, she thought of Beauty and the Beast, wondering if there was a west wing she should avoid. She wandered about, touching tables and furniture.
Although it was a pretty house, she had to admit, it was impersonal. It didn't look like anyone lived here. If it weren't for the dishes near the sink or the boots inside the front door, she'd never know anyone lived here.
When she got to Mark's bedroom, she looked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't behind her. She shouldn't wander into his bedroom, but
she also had an insatiable curiosity for mysteries. And at any rate, both cats were playing on Mark's bed, so she could say that she came in here to get them if he caught her snooping.
"Don't rip that up!" She picked up Wentworth from trying to climb a curtain. The cat darted into the adjoining bathroom, and she heard a crash not soon after.
"Out!" She picked up both cats and tossed them out of the bedroom, which earned her flattened ears and a few howls of protest. She shut the door behind her, and then she realized she was now in Mark's room with no real excuse for being there.
You should leave, she told herself. A bedroom is a private place.
Listening for footsteps, she decided that she could at least look, right? She wasn't planning on going through his underwear drawer or anything.
His bedroom reflected him, she thought: straightforward, without fuss. He had a large bed built of dark wood, and it was easily the most expensive piece in the room.
Abby couldn't stop herself from wondering what it would be like to be in that bed with him. She flushed, biting the inside of her cheek. Running a hand down the comforter, she smiled at how soft it was. So he likes nice bedding. She could appreciate a man who understood the importance of high-thread counts.
The right side table had some books, an empty glass, and a pair of reading glasses. Abby read the titles of the books—all nonfiction about wars or horses—and wandered around the rest of the room.
There was a dresser with a wooden box on it. A tall lamp in the corner. A basket, a bookshelf with a few more titles. It smelled like hay and cedar, but there were no pictures on the walls.
The only photo was on his dresser, the first photo she'd seen in the house. It was of his entire family, including some of the Thornton siblings Abby had yet to meet. The resemblance between all six siblings was rather uncanny, she thought.