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Cowboy M.D.
Pamela Britton
Alison Forester has come to this idyllic California dude ranch to recruit Dr. Nicholas Sheppard for the burn unit at her hospital. Thanks to doctors like him, she survived the fiery crash that killed her parents. He's not going to waste his time and talent patching up rodeo cowboys–not if she can help it.Except the doc she finds is more spurs and saddles than scrubs and stethoscopes. Even more troubling, he's lost his faith in medicine…and in his own abilities. But as Nick quickly discovers, it's not going to be easy saying no to this brave, beautiful woman with the sweet-as-honey Texas accent. And sometimes a physician needs a little help before he can heal himself.
REVIEWERS AND READERS LOVE PAMELA BRITTON!
“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)
“A fairy tale that succeeds.”
—Publishers Weekly on Scandal
“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”
–Publishers Weekly on Tempted
“Passion and humor are a potent combination, and author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend and does everything right.”
—The Oakland Press
“This nonstop read has it all—sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (Top Pick) on Tempted
“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”
—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced
Dear Reader,
Well, here we are again. I’m so tickled and delighted to be bringing you yet another story set in fictional Los Molina. When I started writing for the Mills & Boon American Romance line, I never thought I’d be creating a whole series of books based in this town, very similar to my own beloved hometown of Cottonwood, California.
As always, I hope you enjoy Cowboy M.D. and get a chance to pick up the other books in the series, too. And don’t forget that I’m also writing a line of NASCAR books for Mills & Boon’s HQN Books. (I know, NASCAR and romance—who’d have thunk?) Some of you might have read about these books in your local newspapers, Sports Illustrated or Entertainment Weekly. It’s been a wild ride, and I couldn’t be happier to be combining romance with a sport I love.
Until next time!
May all your books be keepers,
Pamela
P.S. Please visit my Web site at www.pamelabritton.com (http://www.pamelabritton.com).
Cowboy M.D.
Pamela Britton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the gang at Elegant Bean in Cottonwood, California. Thanks, guys, for all the coffee. Not only do you keep me awake in the mornings, but you keep me laughing, too. Here’s to many more books being written on your comfy couch.
Books by Pamela Britton
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
985—COWBOY LESSONS
1040—COWBOY TROUBLE
Contents
Prologue (#u49477b65-bdd4-5e4b-9cf6-47974df2df6c)
Chapter One (#ue57728a7-318d-54df-8a3a-c88fb64d9bf1)
Chapter Two (#u74309e5b-36b1-5028-a71c-4775d6b35c0f)
Chapter Three (#ufdde1a69-6709-5f47-bdda-0077633dee9d)
Chapter Four (#u3b0600a9-0370-5162-b019-9fe33d843695)
Chapter Five (#ucfedc21a-dee5-564a-8b25-d3ee42f39009)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
The door to the rooftop opened with a bang that caused Dr. Nicholas Sheppard to swivel in his plastic lawn chair.
“Doctor,” Lori, one of the first-year residents, said, lights from the parking lot ten stories below illuminating the concern in her face. “You’d better come.”
It was a cold, crisp night and his breath came out in a mist when he exhaled. “Is it Robby?”
She nodded.
Nick shot up so fast the dark green chair fell back. His leather soles lost purchase on the tar-and-gravel roof as he ran to the door.
“CBC?” he asked as he pushed open the metal door. The fluorescent lights from the narrow stairwell nearly blinded him as he took the stairs two at a time, the metal rail warm to his chilled hands.
“Came back a few minutes ago. Not good.”
“Damn,” he muttered. The coffee he’d just gulped down turned to acid. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Lori followed him as he entered the hospital’s main corridor, startling one of the candy-striped volunteers who was pushing an elderly patient down the hall.
“What are the numbers?” he asked, both volunteer and patient wide-eyed as he raced past.
“White blood cells just below four hundred.”
“Damn,” Nick repeated.
“BP at two-ten over one-twenty.”
He attacked the elevator button with ferocity.
“Do you think—” Lori started to ask.
But of course he thought that. Nine-year-old Robby Martin had been brought in four days ago, the victim of a rollover, one that had killed his father. But this kid was a fighter, even with burns on eighty percent of his body, so maybe it would be all right.
The minute he entered the ICU, Nick knew it wouldn’t be all right. If the dusky pallor of Robby’s face—the only part of him that wasn’t bandaged—didn’t tip him off, the way each breath gurgled in the boy’s chest in spite of the respirator would have done it. Pneumonia.
Damn.
Nick almost hurled the metal chart. He jerked the cover back, the aluminum flap swinging on its hinges with a protesting squeak barely audible above the respirator.
He was losing him.
“Should we up his meds?” Lori asked.
But Nick knew pumping more drugs into the child’s feverish body would do no good. “Up the morphine.” And when he met Lori’s eyes, he could tell she understood. The savvy, first-year resident had impressed him with her cool head and soothing bedside manner. Now she had tears in her eyes, too.
“Okay,” she said, blinking rapidly before turning to do as ordered.
Nick moved to the side of the bed where Robby lay, the kid’s brown eyes barely open. What was it about this one that tugged at everyone’s heart? That had every nurse and every resident on the floor checking in to see how he was? They all ached for him. They hurt for the little boy who’d lost his daddy, whose skin had been ravaged by flames while his dad screamed next to him.
“Hey, Robby,” he said. The back of his esophagus swelled as he fought the impulse to cry. The boy couldn’t talk. Hell, he was barely conscious. But he could moan, and the sound was pitiful. He’d been groaning like that when they’d brought him in, the hospital staff hushed by the child’s pain-racked cries.
Get a hold of yourself, Nick. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be immune to this.
But he wasn’t. No doctor ever could be, especially the head of a burn trauma unit.
“Get his mother,” he said to Lori, his voice grating.
When Lori left, Nick reached a hand out and gently fingered a tuft of the child’s blond hair sticking out from the bandage. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his damn eyes blurring again. “It’ll be better soon.”
His hand began to shake.
“Dr. Sheppard,” Robby’s mom said from the doorway. “What’s wrong. What is it—”
But one look at Nick’s face and the child’s mother knew. She took a step back, covering her mouth with both hands.
Nick could only stand there, suddenly out of emotion.
“Mrs. Martin,” Lori said as she came into the room, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
But Robby’s mom didn’t hear her.
“Robby?” she called. But the boy didn’t respond, his consciousness already slipping away.
“Page me when—” He met Lori’s gaze, and there was no need to finish the sentence. She nodded, looked away.
As he left the room, he ignored the staff members who tried to stop him.
He was a kid. Just a damned kid.
He didn’t want to lose another one.
By the time he reached the stairwell, the words were a chant.
Not another kid.
By the time he climbed up a floor, his eyes were welling.
Not another kid.
And by the time he reached the hospital’s roof, the cry that clogged his throat erupted into the cold winter air.
