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Cal Bradford opened the café door. “Hey, Meg, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks, Cal. I’ve got to get back to the office. How’s Donna?”
“She’ll be okay if I can keep her from working so hard.”
“You need to make her stay off her feet. It won’t be too long now until you’re a daddy.”
Cal smiled and then shook his head. “You know Donna when she makes up her mind.” He shifted his gaze to the street. “Good that guy was here.”
“Yes.” She gazed at the last trace of shiny black metal. “Don’t let Donna work too hard, Cal.” Meg nodded to him and started down the sidewalk to her office. She only managed to take a few steps before she glanced over her shoulder.
The black BMW had disappeared.
Hopefully, her afternoon and evening would be less disruptive than the past ten minutes had been.
Three hours later, Meg sat behind her desk, closed her eyes and wondered how long a person could actually go without sleep.
“You okay, Mego?”
She glanced at her cousin and held out the letter she was still holding in her hand. “My insurance company says I need another doctor for the clinic.”
“So go out and hire one,” James Dean Pruitt stated in his matter-of-fact way.
His innocence made her want to laugh, but the aching fatigue attacking her every muscle wouldn’t allow Meg even a chuckle. She shook her head. “I tried to find someone last weekend when Jackson almost fell apart without me.”
“Kate and I figured you went to Galveston for a long weekend. Not so, huh?”
Meg waved the letter again. “For weeks I’ve been trying to find a doctor who’ll work in Jackson. This bureaucratic memo from my insurance company gives me no choice now.”
“How so?”
“They’re demanding I find another doctor or they’re pulling my malpractice insurance.”
“Can they do that?”
“Sure. The suits at the home office claim that with my high doctor-patient ratio it’s unsafe for me to run the clinic.” From a tiny reserve of stamina, Meg found the energy to laugh. The entire situation seemed so ridiculous. Not one physician at the Rural Conference for Doctors in Dallas had been interested in practicing in her hometown.
Her head throbbed and her body ached. If she were her own patient, she’d order herself to go straight to bed for three days. Maybe this was how people really lost it—never getting a decent night’s sleep and then careering straight off the deep end.
“Nobody wants to come to Jackson?” James Dean’s question shifted her attention. He frowned.
“Not one. I’m still the only doctor for seventy-five miles.” She brought her hand back to the desk and thumped the golden oak with her knuckles. “I even paid my own way to Dallas. Do you have any idea how much hotel rooms cost in that city?” She brought her hands to her face and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.
James Dean rose from his chair, stepped over to her desk and rested his large palms on the only space not covered with papers. “Mego, you’re gonna wear out real quick.”
She inhaled a defeated breath at his realistic words and cradled her chin in laced fingers. He was right. In the past few weeks, she’d made mistakes from sheer exhaustion. She’d caught them all, but it was starting to spook her.
“I still can’t believe John left…and for money. I’m trying to take care of his patients and mine. One human being can’t do it all.” Being a small-town general practitioner gave new meaning to the word busy.
“Something has to give,” James Dean said.
“A lot of things will give. If I don’t find someone in a month, I’m going to have to close the clinic.”
Her cousin straightened, crossed his arms and stared down at her. “You can’t do that. We need you.”
“And I can’t run the clinic without insurance. That would be professional suicide.”
“Folks aren’t going to like driving to Fort Worth. How about Charlie’s asthma?”
“I know,” Meg whispered. She massaged her temples again. She’d treated James Dean’s son many times for a mild case of asthma. “Too bad the doctor I met at the Sunshine Café isn’t sticking around.”
“What?”
“Erin Waldron choked on a piece of hot dog down at the café. A doctor who had stopped for lunch helped out.”
She’d sign Steve Hartly up in a minute. A laugh slipped from her lips. She wondered how he’d like working in a run-down, dusty Texas town.
“Something funny?”
“No. Just thinking about a man I met.”
“About time.” James Dean’s eyes gleamed.
“It’s not like that.” But with only the brief memory of Steve Hartly, the silly butterflies were back. To fight them, she turned her attention to the letter on the desk. “What am I going to do?”
“If it’s money…Kate and I could scrape up a few bucks.”
She looked up at James Dean, loving him for the offer. “It’s not the money. That’s the least of it. I need a warm, breathing body attached to a medical license, someone who just happens to be living in Jackson.”
Steve stared at the cracked kitchen sink, then turned, walked into the living room and glanced around. Every window in the house had been broken out.
He owned a certifiable, unlivable dump.
That hard fact, on top of the emergency in the café during lunch, grated on his nerves. He’d vowed never to touch another patient again, but when he’d seen the child choking, how could he not help? And the doctor he’d met after had thanked him so nicely.
An image of Meg Graham paraded through his thoughts. Her open, pretty face and expressive, chocolate-brown eyes still grabbed at his gut. The desire to see her again oozed through his body like warm syrup.
Steve danced the beam of the flashlight over the walls of the living room to distract himself from thoughts of Meg.
Why did I have to stop for a meal where there was a medical emergency?
An autumnlike breeze whipped through the broken windows and fanned across the living room to the kitchen, causing the screen door to squeak.
He wasn’t even sure where to begin repairs. The Realtor had said it was a fixer-upper. Spending the past five years of his life as an emergency-room doctor had prepared him to repair broken bodies, not plumbing or drywall.
Steve crossed the carpetless floor and stepped onto the small front porch. He gazed at the orange-streaked sky spreading to the far horizon. Its beauty was foreign to him. In Houston he’d never had time to enjoy sunsets.
The sound of a car and the flash of headlights coming down the lane brought his gaze around. A GMC utility vehicle kicked up pebbles as it turned into the only other driveway on the small stretch of road.
Must be his neighbors coming home. Maybe they’d know someone he could hire to replace the windows in the house. Then, at least, he wouldn’t have to sleep in his car for more than a few nights.
Taking the three small steps all at once, Steve lunged off the porch, hoping his new neighbors were friendly.
Chapter Two
Meg clicked on the kitchen light and set her grocery bag on the counter. She glanced at the wall clock above the stove. If there were no emergencies, she might get a decent night’s sleep.
If she could sleep.
What in the world was she going to do about the demands of the insurance company? There were no quick solutions. And to top it off, the incident at the café this afternoon had rattled her more than she liked to admit.
The tall, handsome image of Steve Hartly danced slowly through her exhausted thoughts. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but there was something very different about him.
She puffed out a deep breath.
Something different, indeed. She’d practically hyperventilated when she’d looked into his eyes.
Meg chuckled. Even as bushed as she was, she could still fantasize about a good-looking stranger. She shifted her attention and gazed out the window.
“What a stranger,” she whispered. He was unique, but strange? No. She’d felt quite at ease with him even though he hadn’t said much. And in those few short moments, she’d sensed he had some kind of worry on his mind.
Meg shrugged her shoulders. Oh well, she’d never see him again. She crossed the kitchen and stopped to check the answering machine. The green light held steady, thank goodness. She tapped the beeper attached to her waistband as if knocking on wood.
This afternoon she’d finished her office appointments, returned all telephone calls and completed her house visits. For the first time in three weeks, she was caught up on everything except sleep.
Maybe if I splash my face with cold water, I’ll feel better.
Back at the sink, Meg turned on the faucet, cupped her hands and splashed cold well water onto her face in an attempt to relieve the soreness in her eyes. Then she patted her hand on the counter, in search of a towel.
Darn! All her towels were in the hamper with the other laundry she planned on doing. As she straightened, droplets of water ran from her face and hair onto her collar. A knock brought her gaze to the locked screen door.
Steve Hartly stood on her back porch, outlined by the wooden frame, his image blurred by the gray mesh of the screen.
“Oh!” Meg’s heart raced against her ribs, her breath coming in quick puffs. Why was he standing on her porch out in the middle of nowhere?
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His deep voice carried across the room to her.
“What in the world?” Meg’s chest heaved and her hand fluttered to her heart.
Steve’s expression turned to sheer surprise. “I saw a car…but didn’t realize it was…”
“What are you doing here?” Maybe he was strange. He could easily have waited and followed her home. The thought quickened her heartbeat, causing her chest to tighten.
“I saw a car and figured it was my neighbor.” Steve rested his hand against the doorjamb and squared his shoulders. Even through the screen the man looked extremely handsome.
“Where were you when you saw me?” Meg reached for a paper towel and patted her face dry, her heart still stampeding. At least the screen was locked.
“I own the house down the road.” His left hand went to his head and he scrubbed his hair with his fingers.
“You bought the Lemon House?”
“No.”
“If you bought the house down the road, then you own the Lemon House.” She pressed her fingers against her lips.
How in the world could he live in that dilapidated old place? And right down the road from her. She drew a wooden kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down.
He nodded. “Oh, Lemon House, right. I get it.”
“Everyone in town calls it that.” She stood. “Sorry I didn’t ask you in. Blame my bad manners on surprise.” Meg walked to the door, unlatched it, then pushed it open. “Please, come in.”
Steve filled the entire door frame with his brawny physique. Grime and dirt covered his jacket. A wave of sympathy rolled up Meg’s spine. The Lemon House’s condition was probably worse than she imagined. It had been years since she’d even been inside the abandoned place.
“Can I offer you a cold drink?”
“No thanks.” He looked around her bright kitchen.
“I didn’t think anyone would buy that old house.”
“I failed to ask the Realtor for details.” He smiled a little, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.
She stepped back a tiny bit and looked up at him. Steve was taller than she’d realized. “You don’t plan on staying there, do you?” The idea of him living in the falling down house didn’t sit comfortably with her.
“I came over to see if you know of a repairman. All the windows are broken out.…” He squared his shoulders again.
Meg held back a smile. It was hard to believe anything could daunt Steve Hartly. She studied the pained look on his face and another wave of sympathy moved through her.
“I might know of someone who can help you. Please, why don’t you sit down?” She found her own chair at the table.
Steve joined her and folded his hands in front of him. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring intrigued Meg.
Her gaze moved to his, and she found him staring at her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks. Anybody else live around here?”
“Just me…and now you.”
The worry line between his dark brows deepened.
“Are you going to make some of the repairs yourself?” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. The man sitting across from her seemed to undermine her self-possession.
“I was planning on making the minor ones. Now I’m thinking about just renting a bulldozer and…”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad. Besides, Jackson has a great hardware store. Down the street from the café. Bowden’s. Family-owned. Saturday nights they sponsor a country-and-western dance at the Sunshine Café. People come from miles around to dance and have fun.”
“I’m not sure one small hardware store is going to have all the supplies I need.”
The man had such a sincere voice. She drew an invisible line on the table with an index finger, then shifted her attention back to him. “I haven’t been inside the Lemon House in years. Pretty bad?”
