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He stopped. “Mr. Armstrong is my brother Marcus. Call me Porter.” A frown pulled at his mouth and he glanced around wildly. “Why did everyone leave?”
“I asked for some privacy,” she murmured, then pushed a button to power up the hand-held X-ray scanner.
He wagged his dark eyebrows. “You wanted to be alone with me, little lady doc?”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “For professional reasons only, Mr. Armstrong. Now I’m going to remove your pants.”
“Porter,” he corrected, then grinned and clasped his hands beneath his head, as if he were getting comfortable. “And if I had a nickel for every time a woman took my pants off—”
“Spare me the calculation,” she interrupted, lifting her scissors. “I’m only cutting open your jeans so I can X-ray your entire leg. You might want to be still so I don’t snip something I shouldn’t.”
That did it. For the time being, at least, he lay unmoving. If only her hands would be as still, she thought with consternation as she laid open the fabric to reveal the rest of his leg.
It was a fine leg. Corded with thick muscle and covered with dark hair except where it had been rubbed off in spots, presumably by tall boots. Small jagged scars started below his knee and grew larger in an arcing pattern moving up his thigh, ending just below the edge of his black boxer briefs.
Nikki winced inwardly—shrapnel scars. She’d completed her residency at a veterans’ hospital, so she’d seen her fair share of the ravaging war wounds. Her respect for Porter Armstrong rose a notch—the man was no stranger to pain.
He squirmed. “Uh, little lady doc?”
“Dr. Salinger,” she corrected.
“This is a little embarrassing.” His cobalt blue eyes were sheepish as he lowered his hand to cover the growing bulge in his underwear.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it in her medical career, but it was still unexpected. She averted her gaze and said, “It’s okay, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he slurred. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a woman.”
Nikki pursed her mouth. “I don’t take it ‘personally,’ Mr. Armstrong. It’s simply a physiological reaction.” And even though his erection obviously wasn’t meant for her, she took a moment to note its impressive size out of clinical curiosity.
If pressed, she’d have to say the man’s sex organ was above average.
“I’m trying to think of something else,” he said, “but it’s hard—” He stopped. “I mean, it’s difficult to think of something else with all those good-looking women outside.”
“Keep trying,” she said wryly, then pulled the lead-lined apron she was required to wear while operating the X-ray machine over her head.
He made a face at the bulky garment. “I never had a woman want to get me alone and then put more clothes on.”
Nikki rolled her eyes and picked up the hand-held scanner. “Mr. Armstrong, if you keep talking, I’m afraid this is going to be very painful.” Painful for her, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Porter,” he muttered, but fell quiet.
Nikki had to smother a smile while she held the scanner close to the skin, then ran it slowly over his foot and leg.
She hit a button to tell the machine she was finished, then waited while the image appeared on the eight-by-ten-inch black-and-white screen.
“Is my ankle broken, doc?”
Nikki studied the X-ray and took her time responding. “The ankle is simply the joint where your leg bones meet your foot bones.” She turned the screen and pointed to the skeletal image. “Looks like the tibia, which is the larger leg bone connected to your foot, is intact. But the smaller bone, the fibula, is broken, and I’m guessing you have some torn ligaments, too.”
“Can you fix me up?”
“I can set the bone and apply a cast to your ankle to support it while everything heals. The bone had a clean break, so it should be fine. But the ligaments are less predictable, and your ankle could be dislocated. You really should see an orthopedic surgeon sometime in the next few weeks to make sure it’s healing properly.”
“How long will I be laid up?”
“At least six weeks.”
He frowned. “That long?”
“More if you have complications.”
He looked devastated. “Are you sure?”
She set down the X-ray machine so he could see the screen. “I’m only telling you what I see,” she said, arching her eyebrow. “You’re welcome to get a second opinion.”
A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Okay, do whatever you need to do, little lady doc.”
She pulled out a syringe and filled it from a vial.
“Except give me another shot,” he protested, pushing up on his elbows. “I already feel…loopy.”
She flicked the syringe. “Trust me, Mr. Armstrong, you don’t want to be awake while I set the bone.”
“Porter. And I can handle pain.”
“No doubt,” she said, nodding to his scars. “But there’s no need to be a hero here. Besides, my job will be easier if you’re under.”
“Okay,” he grumbled.
“While you’re out, I’ll clean your cuts.” She leaned over his arm and swabbed it with an alcohol pad.
“You smell nice,” he murmured, his voice husky.
The remark caught her by surprise, sending a shiver along her shoulders. She forced a little laugh. “I smell like the road I came in on.”
“You smell good to me.”
He smelled good to her, too. A mixture of perspiration, sun and a woodsy scent that didn’t come from a bottle. All male.
She sucked in a breath, then stabbed his arm with the syringe and dispensed all the painkiller, for both their sakes. He relaxed noticeably. Nikki leaned down to hold his eye open to check the pupil.
The man had a high level of concentrated pigment in the iris—in other words, his were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“It sure is nice to have women around,” he slurred. “It’s been a long…long time.”
“So you said, Mr. Armstrong,” she murmured, then leaned over to check his other eye, satisfied the medicine was doing its job.
“Porter,” he whispered.
Suddenly his hand reached up to clasp her neck, and before she realized what was happening, he’d pulled her mouth down on his for a long, wet kiss.
5
Nikki lost her balance and fell against Porter’s chest. In those few seconds, she wished she wasn’t a doctor and this man wasn’t her patient, because it was…a…very…good…kiss. His lips were firm, his tongue seeking. Unbidden, fire streaked through her chest, and an alien sensation—lust?—flowered in her midsection. The realization made her stiffen. The man was sex-starved and under sedation.
She planted her hands against his chest and pushed hard to escape his embrace. “Mr. Armstrong, let go of me,” she said, although her voice sounded breathy and weak, even to her own ears.
“Porter!” Marcus shouted from the door. When Nikki turned to see both the older Armstrong brothers charging toward them, she realized they’d returned and witnessed the kiss. By the time the men had reached them, though, Porter had released her and his head lolled to the side. He was out cold.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Salinger,” Kendall said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she was still shaken—more by her reaction to the kiss than the kiss itself. After Darren’s betrayal, she’d promised herself she’d be immune to the charms of men, yet here she was trembling like a virgin.
“My little brother has the manners of a mule,” Marcus said, his voice thick with disgust.
“It’s probably the medication,” she murmured, trying to gather herself, but not succeeding. She pressed her fingers to her mouth in an attempt to erase the imprint of Porter Armstrong’s lips on hers. Her face burned. The brothers studied her, as if they suspected she might bolt.
Indeed, she was considering it.
“How can we help you?” Kendall asked hopefully.
She touched her hand to her forehead, forcing herself to focus. “His lower leg bone is broken. You can provide some leverage so I can set it.”
With their help, she set the bone relatively quickly and confirmed its position with another X-ray. Then she bathed her patient’s leg and swollen ankle with antiseptic, and wrapped cotton strips from his instep to just below his knee. Next came wet lengths of fiberglass cloth over the cotton, which dried quickly to form the cast. She’d hoped the rote movements would allow her to distance herself from the man she was administering to, but the amazing kiss kept flashing in her mind like a stuttering synapse, and the adhesive mixture made her light-headed. She felt flustered throughout and was never so glad to be finished with a procedure.
But then she had to bathe the scrapes and scratches on his chest and arms, which required even more contact, to areas that were even more…pleasing. Porter Armstrong’s physique was lean, with long, well-developed muscles—a very nice specimen. His pectoralis major and rectus abdominis were particularly appealing, but his deltoids were noteworthy as well. It was nerve-wracking to administer to him under the scrutiny of his two concerned brothers, but at last she was satisfied he wasn’t going to be infected by whatever branches and stones he’d come into contact with during the fall. She snapped off her rubber gloves.
“He’s going to be okay?” Marcus asked.
She smiled. “As far as I can tell, although he should be monitored overnight for a fever or pain that might indicate internal bleeding. He should wake up within an hour or so,” she said, dousing her hands with sanitizing gel. “I saw the water tower driving in. He’s a very lucky man to have sustained such minor injuries from a fall like that.”
Marcus frowned. “One day our little brother is going to push his luck too far.”
Kendall elbowed Marcus, as if he didn’t want him airing family squabbles. “It’s kind of you to do this after such a long day, Dr. Salinger. You must be tired and hungry.”
“I am,” she admitted.
“The men are planning a barbecue tonight in the meadow to welcome our guests,” Marcus said. “We hope you’ll come.”
After her unsettling encounter with Porter Armstrong, she needed some time alone to assess her decision to come to Sweetness. In hindsight, she hadn’t thought through the emotional ramifications of picking up and moving across several states to literally build a practice from scratch. And from the conversation she’d overheard earlier, it seemed as if everyone in Sweetness wouldn’t be exactly welcoming of her services. She was starting to think she wasn’t ready for a fresh start—not in a place where it seemed her ego was doomed to take a beating.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’m going to skip the barbecue and get settled in for the night.”
“We saved one of the nicer rooms for you,” Kendall said, his voice eager. He handed her a key with the number 225.
“Your bags have been carried up,” Marcus added.
Both of them were looking at her like hopeful little boys.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to freshen up, then I’ll be back to check on your brother. He seems like the type who will fight coming out from under the sedation. You should stay with him so he doesn’t hurt himself.”
“We will,” Kendall said. “Thank you, Dr. Salinger.”
“Yes, thank you, Dr. Salinger,” Marcus said, pumping her hand. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that Sweetness has a physician.”
Nikki wet her lips. “I heard some men talking earlier about a Dr. Riley?”
“Riley Bates,” Kendall said. “He’s not a doctor. He gives the men home remedies for minor ailments.”
Great. She’d be competing with a witch doctor.
“There’s no conflict,” Marcus assured her. “Everyone is glad you’re here.”
But from the brothers’ forced smiles, she got the feeling they’d also heard unhappy rumblings among the men about having a “female doctor.”
“Don’t hang my shingle just yet, gentlemen. Now that I’ve seen your town, I have some thinking to do.” Nikki picked up her doctor’s bag and trudged toward the door. Maybe she’d feel better after a long, hot shower.
Assuming this place had hot water.
This place had no hot water.
Nikki shivered under the shower head, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. After a long, sweaty day, the icy blast had felt refreshing…for about five seconds. Then the cold needles had penetrated her skin and stabbed down to her bones. She hurriedly shampooed her hair and lathered her skin, but it was far from the leisurely bathing experience she’d been looking forward to. She jumped out and wrapped herself in a towel. Still shivering, she walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom she’d been assigned to.
Admittedly, it was a beautiful room, simply decorated with a new black wooden bed and matching wardrobe, plus a red upholstered couch and two cream-colored upholstered chairs around a simple black coffee table. It was a corner room, with two large windows. The sun was on a slow descent into the western clouds, spilling pink and orange tones over a mountain range. When something akin to awe began to bleed into her chest, Nikki turned away. She didn’t want to fall in love with anything about Sweetness. Romantic sunsets did not make up for the lack of basics, like hot water and a medical facility.
And her encounter with Porter Armstrong had affected her more deeply than she wanted to acknowledge. For most of her life, she’d been overlooked as a desirable woman, but she’d found acceptance as a medical professional. She’d hoped she was coming to a place where she could start over as a physician and make a difference. Instead, she’d immediately been reminded she didn’t measure up in the dateable department.
And why was she surprised? The Armstrong brothers, after all, were hoping to attract women who wanted to settle down with their workers…and probably with the Armstrong brothers themselves. So if she decided to stay in this place, she’d have to make peace with the idea that she would be immersed in, surrounded by and inundated with besotted women and hormone-crazed men pairing up like animals headed for the Ark…and that in the midst of the chaos, she would stand alone.
She thought she was okay with the idea of throwing herself into her career and giving up the idea of meeting a man to share her life with. But upon closer inspection, Sweetness was possibly the most unfortunate choice of environment she could’ve made. Considering the comments she’d overheard from the male workers, her ambition of building her own medical practice in Sweetness might be an uphill battle.
So the only practical reason to stay would be if she thought she might be able to achieve…that other thing.
That meeting a man to share her life with thing.
Porter Armstrong’s incredible kiss taunted her, stirring forgotten urges. Nikki inadvertently licked her lips—she could still taste him, could still feel his strong fingers cupped around the nape of her neck and the warmth of his bare, muscular chest beneath her splayed hands.
Then she gave herself a mental shake. The only reason Porter Armstrong had kissed her was because she was there. The man was the exact kind of oaf she’d come here to escape!
Nikki touched her forehead, then checked her watch. She needed to get back to her patient, who most likely wouldn’t even remember the kiss that was messing with her ability to make a rational decision about staying in Sweetness, or getting out—as Southerners were fond of saying—while the getting was good.
6
Porter smiled…he was in the old swimming hole he and Marcus and Kendall had played in when they were boys. He was the best diver and the fastest swimmer. It was the one place he could out-do his older brothers, and he loved to show off. But now no matter how much he kicked, he couldn’t seem to surface. The harder he tried, the more murky the water became, and the more the sticky mud at the bottom pulled at his legs.
As frustration swelled in his chest painfully, he thrashed and clawed at the water, as afraid of embarrassing himself in front of his brothers as losing his life.
“Stop fighting it,” came Marcus’s voice, and suddenly Porter’s arms were rendered to lead. Which only made him work harder.
