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“Pleasure it is,” Brett acknowledged, wondering who this woman was and, more important, if she was staying in town for an extended visit. Was she a friend of the doctor’s, or perhaps a friend of Dan’s wife, Tina, neither of whom were actual natives of the town?
Dan inclined his head, picking up Brett’s answer. “Then it’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you two to the lady who answered my ad—and my prayers.” For his part, Dan resembled a little boy who had woken up on Christmas morning to discover that everything he had asked for was right there, beneath the Christmas tree.
“You advertised for an angel?” Brett asked, putting his own interpretation to Dan’s introduction.
Alisha Cordell had always had sharp eyes that missed very little. She narrowed them now as she looked at the man behind the bar.
This dark-haired, green-eyed bartender fancied himself a charmer, a smooth talker, she thought with an accompanying degree of contempt. The contempt rose to the surface as a matter of course. After Pierce, she’d had more than her fill of good-looking men who felt they were God’s gift to women. Her conclusion had been that the better-looking they were, the worse they were.
“Dr. Davenport advertised for a doctor,” she informed the would-be Romeo massaging the counter in no uncertain terms.
The look she gave the man just stopped short of being contemptuous. If this two-bit cowboy thought she would instantly become smitten with him because he was clearly handsome and capable of spouting trite compliments, he was going to be very sorely disappointed, Alisha silently predicted. She hoped the rest of the men in town weren’t like this.
And if she was going to be staying in this dusty little burg, even for a little while, this cowboy—and anyone else who might share the same stereotypical mind-set—needed to be put in his—and their—place, as well as on notice that she wasn’t here to indulge their fantasies. The only reason she was here and would even entertain the idea of remaining here was to help Dr. Davenport heal their wounds and take care of their ills.
Nothing else.
Brett detected the flicker of fire in her eyes, and his grin widened. “Well, I think I’m getting feverish, so I just might wind up being your very first patient,” he told what was hopefully Forever’s newest resident.
Alisha took a certain amount of pleasure shooting the sexy bartender down.
“I’m just here to observe for the first few days, so I’m afraid that Dr. Davenport would be the one who’ll have to treat your fever,” she informed him crisply.
Dan cleared his throat and launched into introductions. “Brett and Liam Murphy,” he said, waving a hand at first one, then the other of the brothers as he said their names for Alisha’s benefit, “I’d like you both to meet Dr. Alisha Cordell. Dr. Cordell,” he went on, reciprocating the introduction, “Brett and Liam. They’re two-thirds of the owners of Murphy’s, Forever’s only saloon.”
Brett inclined his head. “Pleased to have you in Forever,” he told her. His voice became only a tad more serious as he said to her, “The doc here could really use the help.”
“I’m sure,” Alisha replied, sounding exceedingly formal.
She hadn’t wanted to be impolite to the doctor, but she’d tried to tell him that this tour of the town and its residents was really unnecessary. She’d come here to practice medicine, to answer the call for a physician, not concern herself with socializing. After the fiasco with Pierce, she’d had more than enough of socializing to last her for a very long time.
Possibly forever. The irony of that thought was not lost on her.
But since she was here, Alisha thought with resignation, she might as well pretend she was taking the scenery—and its people—in.
Alisha scanned the saloon slowly. The place had an exceedingly rustic look to it, as if the building had been here for at least the past seven or eight decades, if not longer.
Was this the extent of the diversion that the town had to offer? she wondered in disbelief.
“And this is where people come for a night out?” she asked, not bothering to hide the incredulous note in her voice.
“Dr. Cordell is from New York,” Dan felt obligated to tell the two men. It wasn’t an apology so much as an explanation for the obvious disbelief in the young woman’s voice.
He’d come from New York himself, although at this point, it felt as if that had been a hundred years ago instead of just four. At the time, it hadn’t even been a sense of altruism that had brought him here. Guilt had been the emotion that was responsible for bringing him to Forever.
Guilt and a sense of obligation.
He felt he owed it to Warren. Warren had been his younger brother, and a more quietly dedicated human being hadn’t ever walked the face of the earth. He’d been the one to fatefully convince Warren to come out on one last night on the town before Warren left for the godforsaken dot on the map where he intended to set up a practice. Forever hadn’t had a doctor for thirty years and was in desperate need of one within its borders.
A car accident that night had claimed Warren’s life while leaving him with nothing more than an outward scratch. Internally, though, was another matter. For weeks afterward, he had been all but hemorrhaging guilt. But even so, he’d initially planned to stay in Forever only until a suitable replacement for his late brother could be located.
He hadn’t counted on falling in love—with the town and with Tina Blayne, a single mother and the sheriff’s sister-in-law.
Life truly happened while you were making other plans, Dan thought now. And while he didn’t expect this young woman who had responded to his letter to feel the same way about the town, he had to admit that he was secretly hoping that she would in time.
“New York, eh? Don’t worry,” Brett assured Dan, even though his eyes never left the woman. “We won’t hold that against her.”
Alisha raised her chin, as if she had just been challenged. Of late, she knew she had gotten extremely touchy, but knowing didn’t seem to help her rein in that feeling.
“Why should you?” she asked.
Brett didn’t take offense at her tone. Rather, he just rolled with it, asking, “Short on senses of humor back in New York, are they?”
Alisha never missed a beat. “Not when something’s funny,” she said.
“Feisty,” Brett pronounced, this time directing the comment toward the senior doctor. The grin on the bartender’s face seemed to grow only sexier as he observed with approval. “She might just survive out here, then.”
Dan made a quick judgment call, seeing the need to usher the young woman out before barbs began being exchanged. “Let me bring you over to Miss Joan’s,” Dan suggested.
Alisha glanced over at him, trying to hide her uneasiness. “That’s not a brothel, is it?”
Brett was the first to succumb, laughing at the idea of the vivacious septuagenarian and diner owner who was part of all their lives for longer than anyone could remember running a house of ill repute. Liam quickly followed, and Dan held out for almost a minute, biting his tongue and trying to think of other things.
But the very image of the redheaded Miss Joan as a madam proved to be too much for him, as well, and he laughed until his sides ached, all the while trying to apologize to a less-than-entertained Alisha.
“I take it the answer’s no,” Alisha surmised, doing her best to maintain her dignity amid this joke she felt was at her expense.
It was Brett who answered her because Dan appeared to still be struggling for control. “Miss Joan runs the local diner. She dispenses hot food and sage advice, depending on what you need most. She’s been here for as long as anyone can remember. Longer, probably. The diner’s also the place where everyone goes to socialize when they’re not—”
“Here, drinking,” Alisha said, reaching the only conclusion that she could, given the facts as she perceived them.
Brett corrected her. “When they’re not here socializing.” His manner remained easygoing, but he wasn’t about to allow misinformation to make the rounds. Murphy’s wasn’t only his livelihood, a way that had allowed him to raise his brothers while keeping an eye on them; it was also his heritage. The saloon had been passed on to him after his uncle had died. Before that, his late father had run the establishment. To Brett, Murphy’s was almost as much of a living entity as his brothers were.
“Don’t they come here to get drunk?” Alisha pressed, recalling some of the parties that had gone on after hours while she was attending medical school. Nobody drank for the taste or to just pass away an hour; they drank to get drunk and even more uninhibited than they already were.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw that his brother was taking offense at the image the young doctor was painting. He wanted to set this woman straight before something regrettable might be said. Liam was soft-spoken and he meant well, but a lasting relationship between his brain and his tongue hadn’t quite been reached yet.
“Not nearly as much as you would think,” Brett told her, keeping his smile firmly in place. “I’m not sure exactly how it is in New York, but out here, we do look out for each other—and that includes knowing when to cut a customer off.”
“Except for Nathan McLane,” Liam interjected. The youngest Murphy brother was nothing if not painfully honest—to a fault, Brett sometimes thought.
Alisha looked from Liam to Dan. “Who’s Nathan McLane?”
“A man who’s married to the world’s most overbearing wife,” Brett answered. “Nathan has a very strong reason to come here and drown his sorrows.”
“So you let him get drunk?” she asked, trying to get the story straight.
Brett caught the slight note of disapproval in her voice. “It’s either that, or raise the bail for his release because the poor guy’s going to strangle that woman someday just to get her to stop nagging him.”
Alisha frowned. The dark-haired man was making it sound as if he was doing a good thing. “How noble of you.”
Brett didn’t rise to the bait. He was not about to argue with the woman. He wasn’t in the business of changing people’s minds, only in telling it the way he saw it. “Dunno about noble, but it does keep everyone alive,” he informed her.
Dan lightly took hold of Alisha’s arm, wanting to usher her out while the young doctor who could very well be the answer to his prayers was still willing to remain in Forever and lend him a hand.
Glancing over her head, he indicated to Brett that he had a feeling that if his new recruit remained here, talking to him for a few more minutes, she might be on the first flight out of the nearby airport—headed back to New York.
“Next stop, Miss Joan’s Diner,” Dan announced.
“Hey, Lady Doc,” Brett called after her. Pausing by the door, she turned to spare him a glance. “Nice meeting you.”
“Yes,” she replied coolly. “You, too.” The door closed behind them.
“Wow, if that was any colder, we’d have to bring out the pickaxes to break up the ice around you,” Liam commented.
Brett saw no reason to dispute that assessment. However, true to his ever increasingly optimistic, positive nature, he pointed out, “That means that we can only go up from here.”
Liam shook his head. It was clear that wasn’t what he would have come away with. “You know, Brett, when I was a kid, I never thought of you as being the optimistic type.”
“When you were a kid, you never thought,” Brett reminded him with an infectious, deep laugh. Then he pretended to regard his brother for a moment before saying, “Come to think of it, you haven’t really changed all that much—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Liam said, shaking his head as he waved away his brother’s comment. Glancing toward the door, he asked Brett, “Think she’ll stay? She didn’t look too impressed with the place.”
“Neither was Dan when he first arrived,” Brett reminded his brother. “But Forever’s got a lot of positive things going for it, and besides, it’s got a way of growing on people.”
“Yeah,” Liam laughed shortly as he went back to checking out the musical instruments. “Well, so does fungus.”
“And that, little brother, is one of the reasons why no one’s ever going to come up to you and ask you to write the travel brochure for Forever,” Brett said wryly.
Liam looked at him quizzically. “Forever’s got a travel brochure?”
Brett sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes, Liam, I do despair that all that higher education you were supposed to acquire while I was here, slaving away to pay the bills, was just leaking out your ear as fast as it went in.”
Liam frowned at his brother, but his mood left as quickly as it had materialized. Ever since he was a child, it was a known fact that Liam didn’t have it in him to stay mad at anyone, least of all his brothers.
Finished with what he was doing, Liam went on to step two of his process. “I’ve got to go round up the band and make sure everything’s set for tonight.”
Brett nodded as he went back to cleaning an already gleaming counter. He wasn’t content until there were at least two coats of polish on it, buffed and dried.
“You do that, Liam,” he told his brother. “You do that—just as long as you remember to get back here by six.”
Liam stopped just short of opening the front door. “I don’t go on until nine,” he reminded Brett.
“Right,” Brett agreed, sparing his brother a glance before getting back to polishing, “but you’re tending bar at six. Tonight’s our busy night,” he added in case Liam had lost track of the days, “and I can’t manage a full house alone.”
“Get Finn,” Liam told him. “He doesn’t have anything else to do.”
Brett caught his brother’s meaning. That he felt he had found his calling and wanted to be free to put all his energy toward it.
“Don’t belittle your brother just because he hasn’t found his heart’s passion yet,” Brett chided. “It doesn’t come to everyone at the same time.”
“How about you, Brett? What’s your passion?” Liam asked.
“I like running the bar.” He made no apologies for it. His running the bar had been the family’s saving grace. Rather than feel restrained by it, he was grateful for it and enjoyed being the one in charge of the place.
But Liam looked at him in disbelief. “And that’s it? Nothing else?”
Brett took no offense at the incredulous tone. Liam was young and couldn’t understand anyone who had a different focus, or aspirations that differed from his. He’d learn, Brett thought.
Out loud he said, “I like having my brothers pitch in without having to listen to some complicated internal argument that they feel obliged to repeat for me out loud.”
Liam’s handsome baby face scrunched up for a moment, as if thinking took every shred of concentration he had at his disposal. “That’s supposed to put me in my place, isn’t it?” he asked.
Brett flashed a tolerant grin at him. “Nice to know that all my money for your higher education wasn’t completely misplaced. Okay, go,” he said, waving Liam out the door. “Get your band ready and get back here by six.”
The expression on Liam’s face testified that he’d thought this argument had been resolved in his favor. “But—”
Brett pretended he didn’t hear his brother’s protest.
“With luck, I’ll get Finn to help. He doesn’t whine,” he added for good measure.
“Oh, he whines. You just don’t hear him” were Liam’s parting words.
But Brett had already tuned him out. There were still things to see to before Murphy’s officially opened its doors for the evening.
Chapter Two (#ulink_d46b0858-98b7-5d0a-8e0a-980338a1f6a5)
“It’s open, but I’m not serving yet,” Brett called out in response to the light knock on the saloon’s front door.
He thought it rather unusual that anyone would be knocking rather than just trying the doorknob and walking in. Most everyone in town knew that the door was unlocked not just during normal business hours—hours that extended way into the night—but also during nonbusiness hours if any one of the Murphys were down on the ground floor. The only time the doors were locked was if they were all out or if one of them was upstairs.
The upper floor housed a small apartment that had once been occupied by Patrick Murphy, their father’s older brother, when he was alive and running the family establishment. Although Brett and his brothers lived in a house close to Murphy’s, there were times when Brett stayed in the apartment after putting in an exceptionally long night, too tired to walk home. And there were those times when he just wanted to grab a little time away from everyone in order to recharge batteries that were almost perpetually in use.
“That’s fine because I’m not drinking yet,” Olivia Santiago replied as she walked into Murphy’s.
Turning around to look at the tall, slender blonde, one of Forever’s two lawyers, Brett was more than a little surprised to see the woman here at this hour—and alone. It wasn’t even noon.
He stopped restocking and came to the bar closest to the front door. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the sheriff’s wife grace my establishment?”
“I’m not here as Rick’s wife,” Olivia told him, sliding onto a bar stool.
Brett reached for a bottle of ginger ale, knowing that was the lawyer’s beverage of choice before six o’clock. Taking a glass, he filled it and then moved it in front of her, before pouring one for himself.
He took into account the way she was dressed. Olivia had on a dark gray jacket and a straight matching skirt. A soft pink shirt added a touch of warmth to her appearance. Nonetheless, she was dressed for business.
“Then this is an official visit?” he surmised.
“If you mean am I here as a lawyer, the answer’s yes,” she confirmed, then paused to take a sip.
