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“Dammit, Porter, stop fighting us and open your eyes.”
As much as he hated doing anything Marcus told him to do, Porter opened his eyes, cringing against the light. He was disoriented, but slowly realized his brothers were holding him down. He grunted and strained against them, his mind reeling.
“Settle down, little brother,” Kendall soothed. “You fell off the water tower and broke your leg. Dr. Salinger put you under sedation to set the bone and apply a cast.”
Porter relaxed as the events of the afternoon flooded back to him. From the shallow angle of the sun coming through the windows, he realized dusk was approaching. He’d missed most of the day. He winced. His head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached, no doubt a result of his fall.
“Dr. Salinger?” he repeated, squinting as the serious face of a tiny, mousy woman came back to him. “Little lady doc?”
“You owe her a big thank-you,” Kendall said, helping him to a sitting position. “If not for her and her van full of supplies, we would’ve had to take you to Atlanta.”
“And you owe her an apology,” Marcus barked.
Porter gave the fiberglass cast on his left leg beneath the split in his work jeans a cursory knock. “What for?” he asked absently, still a little woozy.
“We walked in on you kissing her. She was struggling to get away,” his older brother bellowed. “Are you such a hound dog that you couldn’t keep your hands off the damn doctor?”
Porter squinted. There was a distant recollection of a very nice kiss. He grinned. “What can I say?”
Marcus’s face turned crimson. “You can say you’re sorry, you idget!”
“It was just a kiss,” Porter protested.
“It was inappropriate,” Kendall admonished.
“She’s already skittish about being the only doctor in town—with no facilities,” Marcus said. “We can’t afford to lose her because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Porter scoffed. “Come on, Marcus. She probably enjoyed it. From what I remember of the little lady doc, she looked like she hasn’t been kissed all that much. The woman probably has her nose stuck in a book most of the time, and sleeps with her cat.”
At the sound of a door closing, Porter swung his head around to see the topic of their conversation standing there. The woman was tiny—five feet two inches, max—with a figure as slim as a weeping willow branch in stiff khakis and a white button-up shirt. Her mousy-colored hair was falling into her eyes, still damp from a recent shower. The black medical bag she held in one hand looked like it might topple her over. In the other hand, she held a pair of crutches that were almost as tall as she was. Her pale face was free of makeup, highlighting the rings of exhaustion under her eyes. And from the bright pink tinge in her cheeks, she’d obviously heard his comment.
Remorse barbed through Porter’s chest. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she straightened and moved toward them like a miniature steamroller.
“How’s my patient?” she asked cheerfully.
“Fine,” the brothers answered in three-part harmony. Porter shot his brothers an annoyed look.
“I’m fine,” he said more forcefully.
Kendall cleared his throat meaningfully.
“Thank you,” Porter added, “for…everything.”
She gave a curt nod and handed the crutches off to Kendall. “Let’s get you on your feet, Mr. Armstrong.”
She positioned herself on one side of him and Marcus stepped on the other side.
Porter surveyed her slight frame. “No offense, little lady doc, but maybe Kendall should do this instead of you.”
Her pointed chin came up. She had green eyes—rather pretty green eyes. “I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Armstrong.”
Feeling put in his place, Porter lifted one arm around Marcus’s shoulders, and settled one arm around hers. A jolt of awareness ripped through his body at the feel of her skin beneath his, catching him off guard. She was a tiny thing, with the bone structure of a songbird. She barely came up to his armpit, but true to her word, when he eased to his feet, she bore his weight as well as his big brother. She smelled like wildflowers, fresh and clean. Her hair brushed his chin with the satiny caress of a butterfly wing. His body started to respond, but the memory of a similar reaction when she’d cut his pant leg flashed back to him. He hardened his jaw to get his body under control. Marcus was right—the woman deserved more respect. When he was standing, albeit awkwardly, Kendall grabbed the crutches and gave them to him, allowing Marcus and the doctor to step away.
But when she slipped out from under his arm and took her womanly aromas with her, Porter felt her absence acutely.
“Take a couple of steps,” she encouraged.
Maybe it was because he felt like such a heel for the comment he’d made, but he suddenly wanted to please this woman.
He shifted his weight to his good leg, then moved the crutches forward and swung his body to catch up. It was an awkward movement, but muscle memory kicked in from years before when he’d been on crutches for an injury he’d rather forget.
“Looks like you got the hang of it,” Dr. Salinger said. She opened her bag and removed a bottle of pills. “Stay off your feet for the next couple of days. These are for the pain. You should take them with food.”
“I’m famished,” he admitted.
“The men are having a barbecue in the meadow for our visitors,” Kendall said, then jerked his head toward Dr. Salinger when she wasn’t looking. Porter, not understanding whatever his brother was trying to tell him, lifted his hands in confusion.
She picked up her bag. “My work here is done.”
“Dr. Salinger,” Marcus said into the silence, his voice solicitous. “Have you had time to unpack?”
“Not yet,” she said, her voice hesitant.
“I hope your room is satisfactory,” Kendall added in a rush.
She gave him a little smile. “Yes, it’s very comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll call it a night.”
Her slim shoulders drooped as she walked toward the door. Guilt washed over Porter. The woman was a long way from home, and her first day in a strange place had been spent taking care of him. Yet he’d been no gentleman. If his mother were privy to his behavior, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing.
Porter felt the expectant gaze of both of his brothers on him, but he couldn’t conjure up any flattering praise to assuage his earlier slight. Instead, he resorted to an approach more familiar to him—flirting.
“Hey, darlin’, it’s way too early to call it a night,” he said, using the voice he reserved for thirty minutes before a bar’s closing time. He winced—his words sounded cheesy even to him, an opinion seconded and thirded by his brothers’ withering looks.
Dr. Salinger turned back and kept moving, but pinned him with her intriguing green eyes. “Maybe so, but I have a book to finish, and I wouldn’t want my cat to get lonely.”
Porter’s mouth opened, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak.
The thud of the door closing behind her mirrored the impact of his heart dropping to his stomach. He was an ass.
“Porter, you’re an ass,” Marcus confirmed.
“What are we going to do?” Kendall asked, uncharacteristically flustered. “She’s probably on her way upstairs to pack and hightail it off this mountain!”
“We aren’t going to do anything,” Marcus said, then reached forward and thumped Porter on the chest. “Fix this, or I might be tempted to break your other leg.”
Porter winced and rubbed his sore pectoral muscle. He had no doubt Marcus would do it.
“If Dr. Salinger leaves Sweetness,” Kendall added, pacing the floor with agitation, “the rest of the women will probably leave, too. They won’t want to live where they can’t get medical care.” He jammed his hand into his hair. “If word gets out how primitive the conditions are on this mountain, we might never get another woman to set foot in Sweetness.”
It shook Porter to see his middle brother so rattled. Sure, the town would grow more quickly with women, and Kendall had been the one who decided to place the ad in Broadway, Michigan, but…he was acting as if he had an emotional stake in these women staying—
“Porter!” Marcus shouted. “Are you hearing us? You were the one so gung-ho about bringing a bunch of females here. We spent a damn fortune building this boardinghouse and fixing the water tower for them. Now they’re here and you’ve managed to maul and insult the only doctor on her first day!”
“You do need to make this right,” Kendall admonished.
“Oh, no, don’t put this all on me,” Porter said, then an idea occurred to him. “Unless…you want to sweeten the pot a little.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If I can convince the doctor to stay…the homestead gets deeded to me.” The Armstrong homestead, where once stood the house they’d grown up in.
“That piece of property belongs to all of us,” Marcus said.
“But Porter keeps it cleaned off,” Kendall countered. “And face it, Marcus, if we can’t get this town off the ground, owning a piece of isolated property on Clover Ridge is going to be a moot point.”
Marcus lifted his hands. “Okay. If you can get the doctor to agree to sign a two-year employment contract, you can have the homestead property, little brother.”
Porter grinned. “You got yourself a deal.”
A rap on the door made them all turn. “Doc” Riley Bates stood there, his soiled work hat in his hand, his grizzled face apprehensive. The man was the oldest worker they had, and even though he pulled his weight, the brothers always tried to find light duty projects for him. Since he had no family, Porter suspected Riley hung around more for company than because he needed or wanted the work. Porter had a soft spot for the man, who got along well with the workers and gave them teas and compresses for sore throats and black eyes.
“Hey, Riley,” Kendall said. “What can we do for you?”
The man gestured toward Porter. “I heard about the accident. I brung something that might help.” He held up a small jar.
Marcus grunted. “Thanks, Riley, but we’re good—”
“What is it?” Porter cut in, waving the man forward.
“Wintergreen oil,” the man said, offering a toothy grin as he handed Porter the grubby jar. “It’s good for pain and for swelling.”
The man took an “earthy” approach to bathing, too—his body odor was breathtaking. Porter held his breath. “Thank you kindly, Riley. I’ll try it.”
“Good,” the man said, then planted his feet and looked at Porter expectantly. “Go ahead.”
“He’ll try it later,” Marcus said.
Riley looked wounded. “It works better the quicker you rub it in.”
“Then let’s get to it,” Porter said, knowing the man wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise. Besides, what could it hurt? He opened the jar and gave it a sniff. The strong minty scent burned the hair in his nose and made his eyes water. He dipped his fingers into the oil and dabbed it on the skin around the top and bottom of his cast. Then he looked at Riley. “Feels better already.”
Riley grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Guess I better get back to work. You let me know, Porter, when you run out.”
“Will do,” Porter promised.
The old man backed out of the room. When the door closed, Marcus exhaled and waved his hand in front of his face. “I don’t know what smells worse—the man, or his concoctions.” He frowned at Porter. “You shouldn’t humor him.”
“He’s harmless,” Porter said with a wave.
“Okay,” Kendall said. “But he’s your problem if he starts making trouble for the new doctor.”
“I got it covered—the doctor, too. Consider that employment contract signed.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Marcus said. “This woman seems immune to those boyish charms of yours.”
Porter grinned. “I’ll grow on her.”
Kendall frowned. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Marcus pointed to Porter’s cast. “He means more stupid.”
As his brothers walked out, a couple of cute girls walked by and gave Porter coy waves before moving on.
Porter smiled. His broken leg gave him the excuse to visit the doctor, which would put him in proximity to all the other single women. And once he convinced the little lady doc to stay, he’d get the family land.
Who was the stupid one?
7
Nikki maintained her composure on the trek back to her room by concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. But Porter Armstrong’s stinging remark reverberated in her head, resurrecting old insecurities and self-doubt her ex-fiancé’s betrayal had reinforced.
It hurt to be rejected, darn it.
The women were settling into the rambling boardinghouse. Smiling faces passed by and happy feet skipped up and down the stairs. Chatter filled every corner, billowed by bursts of laughter and squeals of delight. But the merriment grated on Nikki’s raw nerves—everyone seemed so happy to be here…and she’d never felt more alone.
“Dr. Salinger,” called a shrill voice behind her. “Dr. Salinger!”
Rachel Hutchins. Nikki turned and forced a smile up at the towering blonde. “Yes?”
Rachel was holding her pug, Nigel. The wrinkly dark-faced pooch looked uncomfortable, as if he were being squeezed. “How is Porter?” the woman asked, her doe eyes welling with concern.
Nikki pursed her mouth. “He’ll live. It’s only a broken leg.”
“Will he be bedridden?” Rachel looked hopeful.
“Not unless he wants to be,” Nikki chirped. “When I left him, he was getting around pretty well on crutches.” Nikki turned to go, but Rachel refused to be mollified.
“Is he in a lot of pain?”
She turned back, her ire flaring. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Oh, I will,” Rachel promised in a singsongy voice. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
Exasperated, Nikki lifted her hands. “I didn’t notice.”
Rachel tilted her head. “Really? Gosh, Dr. Salinger, your boyfriend back in Broadway did a horrible, lowdown thing to toss you aside for a stripper, but you shouldn’t let it sour you on men altogether.”
Nikki bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Fiancé.”
