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New York Doc to Blushing Bride
Janice Lynn
A reason to stay?City girl Dr Cara Conner can’t imagine anything worse than returning to her small-town home for six months to work in her father’s practice. Until she meets her new colleague – and old rival! – Dr Sloan Trenton. If only he wasn’t so gorgeous…But then Cara starts to fall for the heart of gold that Sloan keeps hidden beneath his white coat. Leaving this delicious doc behind will be harder than she’d ever imagined—unless Sloan can give her a sparkly, down-on-one-knee reason to stay… !
Praise for Janice Lynn: (#ulink_87bf7eb1-cd7a-5c5f-aa82-a0007b0ff93f)
‘Fun, witty and sexy… A heartfelt, sensual and compelling read.’
—GoodReads on NYC Angels: Heiress’s Baby Scandal
‘A sweet and beautiful romance that will steal your heart.’
—HarlequinJunkie on NYC Angels: Heiress’s Baby Scandal
“I don’t like you,” she mumbled under her breath, so low he could barely make out what she’d said.
“I noticed,” he whispered back, in resigned acknowledgement of her feelings toward him.
“Even if you are scorching hot and wear sex appeal like a second skin.”
Sloan’s entire body went stiff. Her breathing was still even and her body hadn’t moved away from where she’d spooned with his. Was she awake?
“You think I’m sexy?” he asked, curious as to whether she’d respond and, if so, what she’d say.
“You are so hot you melt my insides just looking at you—but don’t think I’ll ever tell you that,” she answered, her body still relaxed against his. “I won’t, because I don’t like you.”
Asleep. She was talking to him in her sleep. No way would she have just said that and not gone all tense if she were awake.
Sloan grinned. It no longer mattered that Cara didn’t like him, because apparently she was as physically aware of him as he was of her. Somehow, at that moment, that seemed a lot more important in the grand scheme of life than merely being liked.
“Goodnight, Cara,” he whispered against her hair, brushing his lips against its silkiness in a soft kiss. “We’re going to have this conversation when you’re awake, because looking at you melts my insides, too, and I do like you. I like you way too much.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_4066efb7-b7d6-5f50-95e8-7a9d2193b2ac),
It’s funny how real life bleeds over into the imaginary worlds we authors create. Cara and Sloan’s story is definitely an example of that. A while back my mentor and dear friend died—the best doctor and one of the greatest men I’ve ever known—and in this story Cara is dealing with the loss of her father—a man much like my dear friend. Only Cara’s father’s death has set into play a whirlwind of changes that put Cara’s life and heart into a tailspin.
Sloan might be my favourite hero I’ve ever written… might be. He’s the kind of man I want for my own daughters some day. A good man with strong morals, a lover of life, and a man who wants to give back to others—a man who loves with all his heart. He’s half in love with Cara before he’s even met her in person, and can’t quite figure out why she, his mentor’s daughter, can’t stand him.
I had so much fun watching the relationship unfold between these two, as each learns what it means to love someone and to love each other.
As always, I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me at Janice@janicelynn.net (mailto:Janice@janicelynn.net) or find out what I’ve been up to via Facebook.
Happy reading!
Janice
JANICE LYNN has a Masters in Nursing from Vanderbilt University, and works as a nurse practitioner in a family practice. She lives in the southern United States with her husband, their four children, their Jack Russell—appropriately named Trouble—and a lot of unnamed dust bunnies that have moved in since she started her writing career.
To find out more about Janice and her writing visit janicelynn.com (http://janicelynn.com).
New York Doc to Blushing Bride
Janice Lynn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedication (#ulink_86e54f48-26f1-50d8-b73b-556f7e60a1e7)
To Abby, my daughter, an amazing young woman whom I hope reaches for the stars without ever forgetting her inner dreamer. Love you, Baby Girl!
Table of Contents
Cover (#u03370a4c-eb49-56d7-b914-69b3f377dd89)
Praise for Janice Lynn (#ulink_e1d5d7db-28b2-59ea-834e-3f0e41715d03)
Excerpt (#u9198e803-cd33-562f-9a28-59236ab3abb9)
Dear Reader (#u7d770d9c-801d-58bf-a41c-5b7582ca3912)
About the Author (#u76de8669-97ad-50ca-aa04-ac36f79a3540)
Title Page (#u410c5116-d219-5f86-9034-314ca2eacfa4)
Dedication (#ulink_39257354-2002-5087-9d56-aaad5030ddd3)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_12efd5f7-5597-5073-85ac-d989da8b8f42)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8629928c-825b-5720-9eb1-d4c793ff2e61)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0598bd2b-9f18-53de-9545-c925a033a60b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cfeccacf-261d-5071-87dc-e2b6ea2d99c8)
AT FIRST GLANCE, the slim redhead sitting on the funeral chapel’s front pew epitomized poise and grace. But as she politely accepted the sympathy being expressed her fingers clenched and unclenched around the crumpled tissue in her hand. Dr. Sloan Trenton would like to hold her hand, let her cling to him to help her get through the next few days, to share the pain they both felt.
No matter how much he felt he knew Dr. Cara Conner, she saw him as a stranger.
Only she wasn’t a stranger to him.
From the time Sloan had joined the Bloomberg, Alabama family medicine practice the year before, Preston had enthusiastically talked about his amazing daughter who worked in a downtown Manhattan emergency room. That must be why Sloan had thought of her so much since he had officially met her only yesterday.
He’d stopped by Preston’s house to offer his sympathies. His heart had raced like crazy when he’d rung her doorbell, knowing he was finally going to meet her. Despite his exhaustion, his grief over Preston’s heart attack, he hadn’t been able to stay away. He’d had to go to her, to offer his condolences. He felt as if his own heart had been ripped to shreds at the death of a man who’d treated him as a son. Something Sloan had never had anyone do, blood kin or otherwise.
Probably that was why he felt such a connection to Cara.
Regardless of the reason, he’d been shocked at Preston’s daughter’s reaction.
She hadn’t been out-and-out rude, but she hadn’t been receptive to his visit, either, had failed to even invite him into the house and had failed to hide her dislike. He’d stood on Preston’s front porch, a house the man had given him a key to, and he’d felt like an awkward inconvenience in Cara’s world, like an outsider in a place where he’d, up to that point, finally felt at home.
Maybe it was just grief making her so prickly toward him. After all, she’d just lost her father. Still, his gut instinct warned her reaction ran much deeper than grief over Preston’s death.
Sloan swallowed the lump that formed in his throat every time the reality that his mentor and best friend was gone hit him. He moved closer to the brushed steel casket he’d stood vigil by all evening.
Dr. Preston J. Conner had been the best man and doctor Sloan had ever known. He’d been the doctor Sloan aspired to be like. No matter how much he tried, he’d never be half the physician Preston had been.
Just fifteen feet away, Cara stood, wobbling slightly in her black stilettos and slim skirt. Sloan moved forward, determined to catch her if she didn’t straighten. Without glancing his way, she headed out of the room, unaware that he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her more than a few seconds at a time.
He excused himself from the bank president and a local preacher who had been carrying on a conversation around him and he followed Cara.
Leaving the large old Victorian-style house that had served as one of Bloomberg’s two funeral parlors for more than a hundred years, she slipped around to the side garden.
If Sloan followed her, was that outright stalkerish or just the action of a man who was worried about a woman who had just experienced great loss?
He had to at least make sure she was all right.
Hadn’t Preston’s last words been for him to take care of Cara?
Sloan headed around the side of the building. She was sitting on a bench, looking up at the sky. A pale sliver of moonlight illuminated her just well enough that he could tell she was speaking, but he was too far away to make out what she said or even the sound of her whispered words.
His ribs broke loose and lassoed themselves around his heart, clamping down so tightly that he could barely breathe.
Never had he seen anything more beautiful than the ethereal image she made in the moonlight. Never had he felt such a fascination with a woman.
A commotion behind him had him spinning to see the source, but not before he saw Cara’s head jerk toward the noise also, catching him watching her. Great. Now she’d add stalker to whatever other crimes he’d possibly committed.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The cause of the noise now had his full attention.
Mrs. Goines, a blue-haired little elderly lady, had fallen while going down the three steps leading out of the funeral parlor. Why she hadn’t taken the handicap ramp Sloan could only put down to her stubbornness that she wasn’t handicapped or disabled. She had lost her footing and down she’d gone.
He got to the frail little woman almost as quickly as the woman who’d been right behind her—her daughter, if Sloan remembered correctly.
“Mom? Are you okay?” she asked, confirming Sloan’s memory of who she was. She leaned over her mother, who moaned in pain.
“I can’t move.” Ignoring her daughter, Mrs. Goines’s gaze connected to Sloan’s and she groaned in obvious agony. “I can’t get up.”
Assessing the position in which she’d fallen and how she’d landed, Sloan winced. She’d landed on her right hip, leg and arm. Her hip and her shoulder had taken the brunt of her weight. He’d seen her in clinic several times since he’d come to Bloomberg. He knew her health history. She was on a biphosphanate medication to strengthen her thin bones, having struggled with osteoporosis for more than a decade. Her weakened bones hadn’t been able to withstand the impact of her fall.
“Don’t try to move, Mrs. Goines,” he ordered in a low, confident tone. “I’m going to check you, but I will need to send you to the hospital for X-rays.”
“Is everything okay?” Cara asked, joining them and hunching down next to Sloan. At his dash at the noise, she’d apparently come to investigate. Taking the elderly woman’s hand, her expression softened with a compassion that caused Sloan’s breath to catch in his throat.
“Mrs. Goines,” she chided with a click of her tongue and the twinkle in her eyes that had captured his imagination in Preston’s office photos, “were you sliding down the railings again? You know my dad warned you about that.”
The woman’s pain-filled eyes eased just a tiny bit with Cara’s distracting words. “Remember that, do you, girlie?”
“I remember a lot of things about growing up in this town. Like that you used to sneak me extra peaches when I’d go through school lunch line,” Cara told her in a gentle voice. “Can you tell me where you are?”
The woman frowned. “If you don’t know, then it should be you being checked by a doctor, not me. It’s your father’s funeral we’re at, girlie.”
“You’re right,” Cara agreed, not explaining that she was checking the woman’s neurological status with her question. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“If only,” Mrs. Goines moaned. “I wouldn’t be hurting nearly so much.”
“Possibly not, but I’m still glad you didn’t hit your head.” Cara looked into her eyes, studying her pupils in the glow of the porch and lit walkway. “Can you tell me where you hurt most?”
Completely ignoring Sloan now, Mrs. Goines continued to moan in pain while answering Cara’s questions.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sloan had to fight a smile at the transformation that had taken place. Gone was the lost, grieving daughter from moments before. In her place was a confident doctor who stepped in and took charge. Truly, she was her father’s child.
She moved efficiently and thoroughly, quickly coming to the same conclusion Sloan had while watching her examine the older woman. “She needs X-rays. I’m not sure we will be able to move her. You’ll need to call for an ambulance.”
He nodded his agreement and motioned to what he held next to his ear. He’d already punched in the emergency dispatcher’s number. “I need an ambulance sent to Greenwood’s Funeral Parlor,” he told the woman who answered the call. “I’ve a ninety-two-year-old white female who’s fallen and can’t get up. Probable fractured right hip. Possibly her right humerus, as well.”
Cara, Sloan and the crowd that had gathered to see what the commotion was all about stayed with the in-pain Mrs. Goines until the ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front of the funeral home.
Bud Arnold and his partner Tommy Woodall came up to where Mrs. Goines still lay on the concrete steps at an awkward angle. With her level of pain, moving her had risked further injury so they’d just made her as comfortable as possible where she lay.
“Hey, Dr. Trenton,” the paramedics greeted him, then turned to the moaning woman.
“Mrs. Goines, please tell me you didn’t try sliding down the handrail,” Bud said immediately when he realized who the patient was.
Obviously, there was a story behind Mrs. Goines and handrails. Sloan would get her to tell him about it soon. Maybe when he rounded on her in the morning because no doubt she’d be admitted through the emergency room tonight and he’d check on her prior to Preston’s funeral service.
“Hey, Bud,” Cara greeted him, causing the man’s eyes to bug out with recognition.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Cara Conner. Good to see you, pretty girl.” Then he recalled why she was in town and his happy greeting turned to solemn remorse. “Sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good, good man. Best doctor I ever knew.”
