“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gavin asked.

The skin on Violet’s arm was as pink as her face. She sat up. He couldn’t help but note the rise and fall of her chest beneath her shirt.

Oblivious to the sexy direction of his thoughts, she scoffed playfully. “You mean aside from my wounded pride?”

He grinned at her and sank down on the bed. He still felt the drumbeat of arousal. Winking, he teased back, “I kind of like you as a damsel in distress.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “You’re so funny.”

He shifted closer. “I’m serious, Violet.”

Her heart raced. She didn’t know whether it was the fact they were suddenly both in the oddly unexpected situation that had them responsible for the future of baby Ava, or the fact that he was—and always had been—so damn sexy.

Lone Star Baby

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon® author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com, for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“So it’s true? You’re really going to do this?”

Violet McCabe swung toward the sound of the low, gravelly voice. Gavin Monroe stood framed in the open doorway of the partially converted stable-house, dark brows lowered over his mesmerizing blue eyes.

“Do what?” she parried back, trying not to be swayed by the determination radiating from his tall, masculine frame or the sensual curve of his lips. “Go glamping for the next three months?” She was baiting her ruggedly confident colleague. “Or say no to the attending-physician position at Laramie Community Hospital?” One of two positions that had been offered to her.

Gavin strode closer, all indomitable male. “Both.”

Pulse jumping, she watched as his gaze swept the exposed wooden beams supporting the high pitched roof and the large ceiling fan whirring overheard. Then it moved downward to take in the autumn sunlight pouring in through the windows of the rustic, cement-floored space she was about to call home.

“Glamping is going to be fun.” She pointed to the Conestoga wagon that would serve as her bedroom. The area in front, which held a couple of braided wool rugs and her living and dining room furniture, would comprise her entertaining space. To one side of that was a hallway that led to a small utilitarian bathroom with shower, sink and commode.

On the other side of the sliding, front barn doors was her camp kitchen.

“You think so now.” He walked closer to the metal sink, antique wooden worktable and shelving unit. “But when you tire of such a primitive setup...”

When it came to cooking for one, Violet knew there was little she couldn’t do here. Except maybe entertain her parents, five sisters and four brothers-in-law and all their kids.

She shrugged and stepped close enough to inhale the crisp male scent of his cologne. “Then I’ll go into town or visit friends and family.” She had plenty living in the area.

He folded his arms across his brawny chest. “We need you at the hospital.”

And she needed a new lease on life, more desperately than anyone knew.

Feeling simultaneously flattered and annoyed, Violet swallowed. “Gavin, we’ve been over this.” More than once, as it happens, over the past year. With the same result.

He nodded tersely. “You’ve talked. I’ve listened.”

And never once believed she was serious, she thought with a beleaguered sigh. “You know why I can’t stay on at LCH.” There was too much scrutiny here, too many people wondering if she would ever get past her grief over her late fiancé or be able to move on the way they wished. Too many people hell-bent on helping her do just that. Including and especially Gavin.

He called on the rapport they’d built as casual friends and coworkers. “What I know is that you’re making a mistake.”

This had a familiar ring. Her parents had said the same thing. Only her five sisters seemed to understand her need to reset the clock and strike out on her own again. “It’s mine to make,” she said just as stubbornly. “I need a fresh start, Gavin.”

Tension filled the silence between them.

His lips thinned. “This is about Sterling, then.”

And the secret unrequited lust I feel for you.

“The point is, I’m in a rut.” Violet ignored the mention of the only man she had ever loved and the painful reminder of the many ways she had let him down, despite her intentions otherwise.

The way she had begun to fear she might someday let her patients down, too.

Resolutely, Violet continued. “And now, given that my residency has officially ended—”

“You still have staff privileges for another few weeks,” Gavin reminded her, clearly holding out hope.

“Until the new attending, Tara Warren, comes in to take over.” Violet stalked out to the U-Haul trailer that held the rest of her things. Aware he was hot on her heels, she pointed out, “Which will be by the first of October, I’m told. Until then, I’ll help out, on an as-needed basis, as promised, while simultaneously honoring my commitment to my family to oversee the renovation of the new McCabe House.”

Lifting a heavy box into her arms, she nodded at the rambling Victorian farmhouse on the other side of the lawn. Home of her late grandparents, John and Lilah McCabe, the two-hundred-and-fifty-acre property was being turned into a hospitality center and temporary lodging for patients and families undergoing medical crises.

“How’s that going?” Wordlessly, Gavin stepped up to give her a hand, his shoulder bumping hers in the process.

Tingling where their bodies had collided, as well as everywhere they had not, Violet wheeled the loaded dolly into the stable-house. He walked beside her, easily carrying what she could only wheel. “They’re supposed to start the remodeling process next week.”

She emptied the dolly and returned for another load, Gavin still at her side. “How many suites are there going to be?” he asked.

After unloading, Violet paused to show him the building plans, which were spread out over her desk. “Seven—all with private baths.” She flipped through the plans, pointing as she spoke. “The entire downstairs will sport a large kitchen and one living and dining area.”

“It was pretty great what your grandparents did.”

Violet nodded. “And fitting, in a way, for them to deed their entire estate to the formation of a nonprofit foundation dedicated to providing food and shelter for families undergoing medical crises. Given that the two of them were the driving forces that established Laramie Community Hospital in the first place, more than seventy years ago.”

“I admire what they’ve done. What you’ve volunteered to do. But you don’t have to live out here for three months to watch the workers, Violet.” His stormy blue eyes drifted over her. “You could easily supervise this process from town, too. And still take the part-time staff physician position in the oncology department, until it becomes full-time sometime late next year. Or stay on part-time, if you want, and let them hire another part-time doc, too.”

Violet knew there were a lot of options available to her, should she decide she wanted to stay on at LCH. The chief of the department had made it clear they would work with her on that score.

But being around the hospital meant being around Gavin. A lot. And that was a problem for her, because despite the soul-crushing blows life had dealt her, she still wanted desperately to believe that a fairy-tale life was possible.

Whereas Gavin, who had also weathered some devastating life events, believed their experiences proved that no such utopia existed—or ever would.

Leery of having his cynicism engender even more doubts, she’d elected to create a healthy distance between herself and her gifted colleague.

Hopeful that her alone time would bring back her inherent optimism, she said, “I want to be here, Gavin.” Aware he wouldn’t let it go, she said, “I need to take a break. And it’s got to be a big one.”

* * *

IT WASN’T THE first time Gavin Monroe had heard the sentiment. His ex-fiancée had said pretty much the same thing before walking out the door four years earlier. And while he hadn’t minded so much then, he found he minded a lot now. Maybe because he was closer to Violet than any other woman who had come into his life.

Which was strange. Because they hadn’t dated. Or acted on the simmering physical attraction between them in any way.

Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because he had known Violet was still carrying a torch for her own first love.

He had respected that for a time.

Envied it, really, because he had never felt the kind of all-encompassing love and passion for anyone that Violet had apparently felt for Sterling.

But now, well, the ghost in their lives was beginning to get a little old. It was time Violet moved on and became romantically involved with someone else. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be him if she wasn’t here. Which was yet another reason why he had to convince the lovely physician to stay.

“At least give up on the glam camping. Move back into town.” Violet paused to take an elastic hair band off her wrist. Lifting her long, chocolate-brown hair off her neck, she twisted the thick, silky strands into a knot on top of her head. The casual updo brought even more attention to the classically beautiful features of her oval face. “I already gave up my place.”

He inhaled the fragrance of her perfume and felt his heartbeat quicken. “So stay with me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged. “I’m only there half the time.”

“You also live in a shotgun house,” Violet scoffed. “With—what?—a thousand square feet of space.”

“More like nine hundred. And there’s nothing wrong with small houses. It has to be better than an un-air-conditioned barn.”

“First of all, it’s September. So the worst of the heat has passed. And with the barn doors open, the ceiling fan going, it’s quite comfortable, even in the middle of the day.”

Of course she wasn’t uncomfortable. She had on a pair of khaki shorts that ended at midthigh and showcased her spectacular legs. A short-sleeved, V-necked T-shirt that did the same for her trim midriff and lusciously full breasts. He, on the other hand, was burning up in a pair of jeans and an open-necked knit shirt. Sizzling hot from below the waist.

“I don’t understand why everyone is so skeptical about my plan to camp out here for the next couple of weeks.”

Ever the idealist, he imagined she had all sorts of romantic notions—dramatized nicely by the white-organza-covered Conestoga wagon slash bedroom with the set of custom-made wooden steps leading up to it.

Trying not to think of what was inside that wagon, except a no-doubt very comfy, very femininely outfitted bed, he said, “Maybe because you’re not really the outdoorsy type?”

Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Exactly why I’m ‘glamping’ instead of camping.”

He gave her a long, assessing glance, taking in every pampered inch of her. His desire to protect her intensified. “You got hot water in that shower back there?”

Violet opened her mouth. Shut it.

Which confirmed, Gavin thought, she didn’t know.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said stubbornly.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

She dismissed him with an airy wave of her delicate hand. “I have some money saved. I could always put in a water heater if I want one.”

He moved in close enough to goad. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of glamping, having too many of the usual conveniences?”

Violet huffed, her cheeks turning an enticing pink, and stepped back from him. “I really don’t see why you’re so concerned with my comfort, but I really wish—” She stopped at the beeping of his cell phone.

Reluctantly, he lifted it off his belt. “Dr. Monroe.”

“Hey, Gavin. It’s Mitzy Martin.”

Laramie County’s premier social worker.

“I have to talk to you,” the amiable thirtysomething went on, as direct as always. “Preferably in person. Where are you?”

He watched Violet go back to carrying in belongings. “McCabe House.”

He wandered out to lend a hand. “Is Violet McCabe there by chance?” Mitzy continued.

With a smile he said, “She’s standing right in front of me,” and gestured for Violet to wait—that he’d carry the box of books she was contemplating.

Violet’s brow furrowed.

“Great!” Mitzy enthused. “I need to see her, too. I’ll be right there.” She hung up before he could ask anything else.

Clipping his phone back on his belt, he reached out to relieve Violet of the box she had once again started to pick up. “Mitzy Martin wants to speak to us.”

“Any idea why?”

“She didn’t say.” But knowing Mitzy as well as he did, it had to be something important.

* * *

“LET’S ALL SIT DOWN, shall we?”

Violet wasn’t surprised that Mitzy got right down to business. Nor did she mind.

Spending too much time in close quarters with Gavin Monroe always left her feeling off-kilter. Frankly, she needed a chaperone where he was concerned, so she was glad for the extra company. Lest she find herself forgetting her usual reserve and acting on the innate restlessness she felt these days.

As soon as the three of them were situated comfortably around the table, Mitzy turned on her laptop computer and clicked on the appropriate file. She turned the screen so everyone could see it. “You-all remember Tammy Barlowe and her husband, Jared?”

Violet nodded. “They came into the ER last spring when Jared fell ill during a weekend trip to Lake Laramie. Gavin stabilized him. I was called in because he was a stage four cancer patient.” Having a last hurrah with his teenage wife.

“You also know that Jared died last summer.”

“Tammy wrote us, to let us know.” Violet struggled to contain the lump in her throat. “It wasn’t all bad news, though. She was pregnant. In fact, shouldn’t she be due to deliver in a couple of weeks?”

“That’s what we need to talk about,” Mitzy said solemnly. “It wasn’t just Jared who was sick. Tammy had a heart condition that made carrying a baby unwise. She chose to ignore medical advice and get pregnant anyway. Although Ava was born a month early, she’s fine.”

“And Tammy?” Gavin asked.

Mitzy shook her head. “Her heart wasn’t strong enough. She died during childbirth.”

Violet laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, no...”

Gavin squeezed Violet’s hand.

She relaxed into his grip, accepting the quiet comfort he offered.

“Because she knew her death was a possibility, she left a videotaped will of her wishes.” Her expression still solemn, Mitzy clicked on the file.

Tammy Barlowe appeared on the screen. She was clad in a hospital gown and robe. Her short brown bob looked lackluster, her freckles stood out beneath her pale skin, and there were pronounced dark circles beneath her eyes. And yet there was a serenity about her; a deep maternal happiness that seemed to shine through despite her physical difficulties. Hand protectively cupping her swollen belly, she looked straight into the camera and said, “Hey, Dr. McCabe, Dr. Monroe. If you’re seeing this, it means I’m not here anymore...but my baby girl, Ava, is. And that means she needs a home and family to watch over her.”

Tammy swallowed. Lower lip trembling, she pushed on. “I wish Jared and I had relatives we could call on, but we don’t.” She paused to look long and hard at her audience. “And the last thing either of us ever wanted was to have a child of ours grow up the way we did, in the foster care system.”

A soft sound of dissent was heard in the background.

Tammy grinned and lifted a hand at her off-camera audience. “No offense to the social system that helped us, and the social workers and legal aid attorneys who are helping me now. But being a ward of the state is not the same as living with parents who love you and will make sure you grow up right.” Clearing her throat, she glanced toward the camera again. “Which is where you come in, Dr. McCabe. You’re not just a great lady doc, you’re everything I ever wanted in a mom. And, Dr. Monroe, you’re everything I ever wanted in a dad.”

Violet could see that Gavin would make a wonderful father. Not that she’d ever heard him talk about wanting kids. Or not wanting them, either...

Tammy continued with her trademark enthusiasm. “Both of you were so wonderful to me and Jared. And you work so well together when it comes to caring for people.” Another long pause. “And I also know, ’cause I did a little checking, that neither of you is married or has any other kids of your own...”

She hitched in a bolstering breath. “So I’m asking you both to step in, in the event of my demise, and adopt my Ava together. You don’t have to be married or anything. Just be the mom and dad she needs.”

Violet turned to Gavin, who looked as stunned as she was.

“But if you both can’t do that, or if one of you wants to and the other doesn’t, that’s fine.” Tammy sighed, as if already having anticipated being disappointed on that score. “I’m okay with just one of you becoming her actual legal guardian, as long as she has extended family—like either the Monroe or the McCabe clans—to take care of her. So that no matter what, she will never end up in the system...” Tammy teared up. “And will always have family around to raise her.”

That, really, Violet thought, her heart going out to her late patient, wasn’t too much to want.

More murmurs could be heard prompting in the background.

Tammy turned back to the camera. “It’s a big decision. You both will need time to think about it and discuss it with each other.”

Quietly, she pleaded, “While you are doing that, I’m going to ask that you personally care for my little girl rather than put her in foster care. Until such time one of you but preferably both decide to raise Ava as your own—which is what I hope will happen—or can work with the social workers to find a suitable adoptive family. One with a lot of close relatives as backup to ensure she is loved, no matter what.”

Again, Violet thought, realizing how much she counted on the extensive McCabe clan for love and support, it was not too much to ask for. Gavin had a big, loving family in the Monroe clan, too.

“Ideally, I’d also like Ava to be raised in or around Laramie, Texas, so you can watch over her and if not be her parents, at least be her godparents as she grows up. What I want most for my daughter is for her to be cherished. And I know the two of you have hearts big enough to do just that. So—” Tammy swallowed hard, moisture glistening in her eyes “—thanks. For everything you did for me and Jared last summer and everything you’re going to do for my darling Ava.”

Tammy wiped a tear from her cheek. A murmur could be heard in the background. She nodded and the video ended.

“I realize this is a lot to hit you with, which is why I wanted to talk to you in person,” Mitzy said.

No kidding, Violet thought. Her heart had been turned inside out just hearing about the situation. And she hadn’t even met the little darling yet.

Gavin had to be equally thrown by the request, yet it was impossible for her to tell from his inscrutable expression.

Still feeling a little shell-shocked, Violet swung back to Mitzy. “Where’s the baby now?”

“In the hospital in Dallas, where she was born two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks?” Gavin echoed at last.

“Ava came into the world only weighing four pounds.” Mitzy went on to explain the medical problems the preemie had already endured, which included breathing struggles, weight loss, feeding issues and difficulty absorbing nutrients.

“She won’t be released until she’s into a regular bassinet, taking food from a bottle and gaining the appropriate weight. But if you two are willing to become legal guardians, at least temporarily, we could transport her by the end of the week to the hospital here. Naturally, it helps that you’re both physicians.”

And hence would be better equipped to help a struggling newborn, Violet thought, switching quickly into caretaker mode.

The social worker lifted her hand. “I know neither of you had any idea you’d been named as Ava’s legal guardian. Never mind consented to Tammy’s request. So I don’t want—or expect—either of you to give me an answer about any of this right now. Talk it over with each other before making a decision.”

Gavin nodded his understanding.

“We’ll get back to you tomorrow,” Violet promised, still feeling a little dazed.

Mitzy gathered her belongings and left.

Gavin turned to Violet, his expression serious, intense. “So,” he said heavily, seeming to be in as much a quandary as she was, “what do we do?”

Chapter Two

The usual idealism shining in her pretty brown eyes, Violet turned to Gavin, frowned and said, “Obviously, we can’t adopt baby Ava together.” She walked back outside and he followed her. “We barely know each other.”

Barely?

While it was true they hadn’t hung out together as kids and had run in different social circles—it was certainly different now that they were both physicians.

Irked to find her so quick to discount the time they had spent together, Gavin stepped in once again to lend a hand unpacking the trailer. “We’ve worked together for the past five years while we completed our residencies and fellowship training.”

“You know what I mean. Yes, I know your preferred ways of dealing with certain medical situations, just as you surely know mine. But when it comes to the intricate personal details of your life, I don’t know you any better than I know the rest of the staff at the hospital.” Violet plucked a lamp base out of the pile of belongings, rooting around until she found the shade. “And you don’t really know me at all, either.”

Gavin’s jaw tightened. Oh, he knew her, all right. Maybe better than she thought.

For instance, he knew her preferred coffee was a skinny vanilla latte. And that she loved enchiladas above all else—to the point she’d sampled all twenty-five types from the local Tex-Mex restaurant.

He tore his gaze from the barest hint of cleavage in the vee of her T-shirt and concentrated instead on the dismayed blush of color sweeping her delicate cheeks.

“And whose fault is that?” he inquired huskily.

“Mine, obviously,” she said with a temperamental lift of her finely arched brow, “since I prefer to keep a firewall between my professional and private lives.”

More like a nuclear shield, he thought grimly.

Having tried to pierce it once or twice himself, he’d given up and concentrated on his own work, moving on to occasionally date other women. Except for his one disastrous engagement, none of those relationships had ever amounted to anything more than a short-lived flirtation. Mostly because none of the other women had even begun to measure up to the sexy, irrepressible Violet McCabe.

He gazed into her eyes, chiding, “What private life?”

She looked down her nose at him, lamp and shade still in hand, as he stacked moving boxes onto the wheeled dolly. “You are too funny, Monroe.” She stepped back reluctantly to let him push the dolly into the barn for her.

Realizing how ridiculous it was to still be lusting after her when she was still not over losing Sterling, Gavin gestured to the place she’d been putting all the other boxes.

She nodded her approval and he set them down.

“Besides,” she taunted, watching as he straightened to his full six feet three inches, “it’s not as if you have a viable personal life, either.”

Unable to resist teasing her, he raked his eyes up and down her body. “Sure about that?”

She flushed. Hinting, to his pleasure, that she might be a little more interested in him, too, than she’d previously let on.

Violet grabbed the dolly and headed back out to the truck, her hips swaying provocatively beneath her shorts. “Let’s just say I find it highly unlikely,” she shot back. “Unless you’ve managed to get by on zero sleep the past four years—”

So she did know exactly how long it had been since his engagement to Penelope had ended.

“—and, the occasional cursory date aside, skirt around without detection. Which would be an even larger feat, given what an eligible bachelor you are.”

Clasping a palm to his chest, as if he had just taken an arrow to the heart, he drawled, “Women find me eligible?”

She mimed exasperation at his clowning around. “Please,” she said in an unamused voice that completely belied the twinkle in her eyes. She paused to put the two parts of the lamp together. “Like they don’t come into the ER and hit on you every day.”

They did. But a lot of single guys on the EMT, fire and sheriff’s squads came in just to flirt with her, too.

“Besides...” Bending, and giving him a very nice view of her luscious derriere, she rummaged through another box marked Fragile and emerged with a cardboard sleeve of lightbulbs. With an indignant sniff, she finished putting together the lamp. “Between your extended family and mine, and the nonstop demands of our residencies and fellowships, neither of us has had time to pursue anything remotely meaningful on our own.”

Which was, Gavin thought, yet another problem that had to be addressed.

Their residencies were over now.

Yes, they were still doctors with crazy work schedules, but they also deserved more of a personal life. He intended to find one.

He hoped she would, too.

“And,” she continued, brushing a hand through her sexy, side-swept bangs, “I don’t know if that will ever change.”

The unmistakable ache in her tone caught him unaware.

He studied her, for the first time realizing she might also be a little lonely, deep down. As well as privately longing for more, too. Despite her avowals to the contrary.

“So you’re thinking that because we both have so little spare time and energy on our hands, that we should just say no to Tammy’s request and hand the baby over to Dallas social services?”

“No.” Violet looked at him long and hard. “I’m saying we should say yes to temporary guardianship. Bring Ava here, make sure she gets absolutely everything she needs medically and then—once we’re sure she is okay—have Mitzy help us find her a loving family who will welcome us as godparents and allow us to watch over her as she grows up.”

Gavin heaved a sigh of relief, glad to find her being as pragmatic, compassionate and levelheaded as the situation demanded. Having been orphaned himself, albeit when he was about to enter medical school, he couldn’t live with himself if he turned his back on another parentless child.

It was bad enough the way he had let his own family down, by not being as available as he should have been in that difficult time.

He’d tried to make up for it since—by returning to Laramie for his residency and taking a permanent job there.

But if he had it to do all over again, he would have done what was right for everyone—not just him.

“That’s what I think we should do, too,” he said firmly.

“Then it’s decided?” Violet asked.

Gavin nodded. The idea of raising a child with such a sweet and sexy woman had been a nice, brief fantasy—but that was all it was; a tantalizing idea. One he was far too practical to waste any time pondering.

“I’ll call Mitzy and tell her that we’ve talked and decided what we want to do.”

* * *

“WHO KNOWS? THIS might be just the change you’ve been looking for,” Lacey McCabe told Violet two days later.

Violet looked at her mother. An accomplished physician and neonatologist, and head of the pediatrics department at LCH, she had come down to the ambulance bay to await the arrival of baby Ava.

Violet refused to encourage her mother’s hope that all six of her daughters would end up with children of their own, in marriages just as solid and strong as hers. “It’s just a temporary guardianship, Mom.”

“I know you think that now, but babies have a way of latching on to your heart.”

“Not in this case,” Violet insisted.

She wasn’t ready for motherhood.

She certainly wasn’t the best choice, long-term, for an orphaned newborn.

But with the help of her family, and Gavin’s, she could do the right thing, in the short run. That, she knew.

“Just don’t confuse the love you and Gavin will no doubt feel for this child for anything else,” her mother continued.

Violet blinked. “Like what?”

Lacey shrugged. “Babies in jeopardy have a way of bringing people together in other ways, too.” She paused, concern in her eyes. “Ways that don’t last.”

Was her mother intimating that she and Gavin would become closer, too, as a consequence? “You don’t need to worry about that,” Violet huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Gavin and I know how to work together for the good of a patient—or in this case, a ward—without crossing any boundaries.”

Lacey nodded, her maternal gaze cautious. “In any case,” she went on, with an approving hug, “I want you to know your father and I are proud of the way you and Gavin are stepping up to take on this unexpected responsibility.”

Gavin joined them. He’d been on the midnight-to-noon ER shift. Clad in surgical scrubs with a shadow of beard on his face, he looked as ruggedly handsome as always. He smiled at Violet and her mom. “Jackson said the same to me a little while ago,” he confirmed.

Lacey’s dad was not just LCH’s chief of staff, he was also famously protective of all six of his daughters. He never hesitated to offer encouragement or to step in with a word of caution if he thought one of them was headed down the wrong path.

“In fact, I think everyone at the hospital is interested in doing what they can for the little one.” Gavin hovered closer. “How much longer until they get here?”

Violet dutifully consulted her watch. “Should be any minute now. In fact, Mitzy should be here shortly, too.”

Right on cue, the social worker appeared. She had a clipboard full of papers to be signed.

The next few minutes were spent filling out the appropriate paperwork. By the time they’d finished, the ambulance pulled up beneath the portico. The doors opened and the incubator containing baby Ava was brought out. They caught only a distant glimpse of the newborn as she was whisked through a series of corridors that led straight to the Special Care Nursery. “Showtime,” Gavin said as they fell into step behind the EMTs.

Was he as nervous about all this as she suddenly was? There was no way to tell. But she was glad he was here with her every step of the way.

Together, Gavin and Violet waited in the corridor outside the unit. Finally, Lacey McCabe came out. Clad in a sterile yellow gown thrown over her clothing, she had a stethoscope around her neck and a smile on her face. “Ava’s doing great. You can go in and see her now.”

The two of them slipped on yellow gowns and Violet took a bolstering breath as they went inside.

Ava was snuggled on a white flannel blanket that covered the bottom of the enclosed Plexiglas incubator. She had a knit cap on her head, a white knit sweater on her torso that covered her spindly arms and a diaper. Monitors were attached to her chest and foot. She had a nasal cannula to help her get the oxygen she needed.

Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes thick and velvety against her cheeks. She appeared to be sleeping comfortably. Looked sweet and vulnerable. And so very precious, this tiny baby girl.

A lump rose in Violet’s throat as she thought about everything the premature infant had already been through. It was one thing to accept responsibility of a child in theory, another to actually do it, live and in person.

Violet let out a tremulous sigh.

Gavin seemed similarly affected. His eyes still on little Ava, he reached over and took Violet’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Meg Carrigan, the nursing supervisor, appeared at Violet’s elbow. “You can come back and visit her as much as you want, but right now we’d like Ava to rest awhile.”

Violet nodded. The doctor in her understood the reasoning. But the “mom” in her wanted to stay. Forever.

Reluctantly, she stepped back.

Gavin took her elbow and led her out of the nursery and into the hall.

A crowd had gathered. Other parents. Staff. Visitors. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the little orphan. Mitzy was there, too, smiling. “Can you believe it?” She was practically gushing as she held up another sheet on her clipboard. “We’ve already had two dozen families calling, interested in giving her a permanent home. And they haven’t even seen her!”

“Great,” Violet managed to say, her treacherous heart clenching and unclenching like a fist in the middle of her chest.

Gavin nodded. Tightening his grip on her elbow, he escorted her down the hall and past the elevators, to a deserted corner. “You okay?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He edged closer. Head dipping toward hers, he asked quietly, “Are you going to be able to do this?”

Not sure whether to be insulted he doubted her or impressed he could so easily see her inner turmoil, Violet stammered, “O-of course!”

Gavin gave her a probing look that sent heat spiraling through her. “Really? Because, from my view, you already look a little too attached.”

* * *

HIS OBSERVATION HIT Violet hard, and while Gavin was sorry about that, he also knew it had to be said.

“You had tears in your eyes just now.”

She waved a hand. “You were choked up, too.”

Only because Violet had been choked up.

Gavin cleared his throat. He saw the vulnerability in her expression and wished there was some way to make this easier for all of them without admitting they might have made a mistake in agreeing to it at all.

Especially if she was this emotionally invested already.

Their eyes met and locked, generating another wave of heat between them. She stepped back slightly, but not before he caught the faint drift of the freesia perfume she favored.

“Look, I’m not going to deny I feel a little sorry for the kid...”

Her golden-brown eyes sparked with indignation. “A little?”

“Okay, a lot.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Being orphaned is a rough road.”

She inhaled shakily, reminding him, “As you very well know from personal experience.” Her dark brows knit together. “Which, maybe, is precisely the reason you should be involved?”

Chagrined, he dropped his hold on her. “Temporarily. In a very cursory—guardian in legal aspect only—way.” Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he could meet this child’s needs any better than he had his siblings’ in the aftermath of his parents’ tragic death.

She gave him an affronted look. “Well, that’s not my idea of being a guardian.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw several people heading toward them. Figuring this conversation did not need an audience, Gavin cupped Violet’s elbow once again, opened the exit door that led to the stairwell and guided her through.

Abruptly, they were surrounded by concrete—and silence. She swung toward him, shivering slightly, her full lips slanting downward. “You can’t get emotionally attached to this baby, Violet.”

“Actually, I can’t not have feelings for her.”

Watching a shadow cross her face, he wanted to protect her all the more. “You know what I mean.”

Violet folded her arms in front of her, the action pushing up the soft swell of her breasts. She released another long, quavering breath. “You think I should handle the situation the way you do your ER patients?” Clearly aware this situation was becoming far too intimate too fast, she paced away from him. Leaning against the wall, she propped her hands on the railing behind her. “Treat ’em and street ’em?”

Not about to apologize for doing his job, and doing it well, he replied in a low, matter-of-fact voice, “Patients come in. They have a medical problem that needs to be dealt with. I diagnose it, administer the proper care and then wish them well as they head either out the door or to another floor of the hospital.”

“In any case,” she accused, “you don’t have to see them again or get emotionally involved.”

“Actually,” Gavin corrected, matching her high-brow tone, “some of them I do see on a rather regular basis. Anyone with a chronic health problem. Cystic fibrosis, cancer and congestive heart failure patients tend to come into the ER at least once or twice a year, if not more, depending on the situation.”

She moved to sit on the floor and propped her folded arms on her upraised knees. “Okay. I’ll grant you that.”

He sat next to her; so close their legs almost touched. “I never give anyone less than my best. It still doesn’t mean, however, that I’m unnecessarily involved with my patients.” The way, he observed silently, she often seemed to be.

“Well, that’s true.” Violet rubbed at an imaginary spot on her jeans. “You do have a rep for having a barbed-wired heart.”

Her teasing tone did little to allay the sting of the words. He elbowed her playfully. “Actually, Penelope said I didn’t have a romantic bone in my body.”

“What did you do to make her think that?”

Pushing aside the memory of the bitter breakup, he shrugged. “I think it’s more what I refused to do.”

Interest lit her curious eyes. “Which was...?”

“Sugarcoat anything. Life is what it is.” Fate had taught him that. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

Violet pivoted to face him, her bent knee nudging his thigh.

Trying not to think what it would feel like to have the rest of her touching him, in a much more intimate way, he admitted wryly, “I think the consensus is that I’m ‘emotionally unavailable.’ And therefore, profoundly undatable.”

She tilted her head and then rose slowly, dusting off the seat of her pants.

He noticed she didn’t argue the assessment.

“That’s too bad. Everyone should have a great love at least once in their life.” Were they flirting? It seemed as if they were.

He got to his feet, too. Glad to once again be towering over her. “At thirty-two, I hardly think my time has come and gone.”

Violet laughed, suddenly looking a whole lot more relaxed. “True. I suppose there’s still a chance you’ll open up in here.” She tapped his heart.

He quirked a brow. “Or not.”

She was about to say something else when his phone beeped. He read the text message, then said, “I’m needed in the ER.” He paused in surprise as another text followed. “And so are you.”

Chapter Three

The paramedics had just finished wheeling the gurney holding eighty-two-year-old Carlson Willoughby into an exam bay when Violet and Gavin walked in.

As usual, Violet noted, his wife, Wanda, was by his side. Both were dressed in tracksuits that zipped up the front. Hers was pink and white; his, a jaunty navy blue.

“Hey, Dr. McCabe.” Carlson lifted a hand weakly in greeting. As always, he was impeccably clean-shaven, but his thinning, snow-white hair was damp with what appeared to be sweat.

Violet grinned at one of her favorite patients. “Back again?”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

The paramedic handed Violet a chart. “He collapsed with pain on his lower right side. Because of his history, we felt it best to bring him in.”

“A lot of fuss over nothing,” Carlson grumbled, glaring at his IV. He winked at his wife. “Although I do enjoy an ambulance ride from time to time.”

“This is no joking matter, Carlson,” Wanda chided.

“Everything is a joking matter,” he returned with an affable grin.

“No fever,” the nurse taking his vitals said. “BP 140 over 100, heart rate 98.”

Gavin stepped in, as attending ER physician, to do the physical exam. “So what else has been going on?” he asked while palpitating the older man’s abdomen.

Violet noted Carlson seemed to be in pain.

“He’s had stomach issues the past few days,” his wife explained.

Carlson waved off the concern. “It was probably my cooking. I tried a new recipe as a surprise on our sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

“Congratulations.” Violet smiled, impressed at the longevity of their relationship.

Wanda told her husband, “Your tendency to overspice everything has nothing to do with this. If it did, you would be sick all the time.”

Carlson guffawed.

“Anything else of note?” Gavin asked, frowning as he checked the lymph nodes.

Carlson was mum.

“He’s had pain,” his wife declared. “I know he has for weeks now. He just won’t admit it.”

“Everyone our age has pain.”

Wanda dabbed her eyes. “I think the cancer has returned.”

Violet hoped that was not the case. She’d become very close to the older couple over the past five years. Too close, she sometimes thought.

“Which was why I asked for you.” Carlson looked pointedly at Violet. “I want you to tell Wanda that’s just not true.”

Violet forced a matter-of-fact smile.

“All this is, is old age and indigestion,” the patient declared stalwartly. “Tell her, Dr. McCabe.”

Violet wished it was that simple. “You know I can’t rule anything out from an oncology perspective until we do a few tests. Which you are about due for, anyway, aren’t you?”

Carlson groaned at the prospect. Defiantly, he attempted to sit up and shook his head. “Now that I’ve celebrated our anniversary here—”

Gavin gave the couple a curious look.

“We met in the ER sixty years ago, fell in love at first sight and married a week later,” Wanda explained. She patted her husband’s hand fondly. “And I have never regretted loving this man for an instant.”

“Nor I you. And now that we’ve commemorated that great day with yet another trip to the hospital, I just want to go home,” Carlson said stubbornly.

“And you will. In a day or so. After we make sure everything is as it should be,” Violet said soothingly.

Briefly, she and Gavin stepped out to consult and then she returned to the exam room. “Dr. Monroe confirms you are in no immediate danger. However, we both think you need more tests. So I’m admitting you on the oncology floor.”

“Thank heaven.” Wanda exhaled in relief.

Carlson scowled in mock aggravation. “Don’t be so anxious to get rid of me!”

“Hey,” Wanda replied, her usual good cheer returning now that her husband was in good hands. “Even I deserve a Carlson-free evening every now and then.” She winked at her beloved. “So stop trying to ruin it for me!”

The couple chuckled in unison. Their verbal one-upmanship continued, to the amusement of the staff.

Grinning, Violet stepped out to the nurses’ station to write the orders.

By the time she had finished, Carlson was already on his way up to a private room. Gavin had been called to stitch up a teenager who had accidentally thrown a baseball through a window, then cut his hand while cleaning up the broken glass.

And that was when one of his sisters, Bridgette, rushed through the emergency entrance.

She and her twin, Bess, were both nurses. But only Bridgette had returned to Laramie to live.

A nurse in the neonatal unit, the lively twenty-four-year-old brunette was usually enviably calm.

Not today.

In paint-splattered clothing, her keys in one hand, cell phone in the other, she strode toward the desk. “Where’s Gavin?”

“With a patient. What’s going on?”

“It’s Nicholas.” Violet knew she was referring to their nineteen-year-old brother. “He was in an accident.”

“Oh, no! Is he hurt?”

“I’m not sure. I got a call they’re bringing him in.”

In the distance, sirens sounded. Bridgette looked around, wild-eyed and teary.

“I’ll get Gavin,” Violet told her.

She grabbed a pair of sterile gloves as she walked through the exam room door. “Want me to finish up?” she said with a look that told Gavin he was needed elsewhere.

“Sure.” He handed off the task to her.

By the time Violet had finished with the stitches, the EMTs were wheeling Nicholas in on a gurney.

If the way he was arguing with the EMTs was any indication, she thought, he wasn’t badly hurt.

“—completely unnecessary.”

“Your pickup rolled and nearly went down a ravine. You’re getting checked out.”

Another ER doc followed the gurney into an exam room. She came out ten minutes later, announcing, “Except for a few bruises, he’s fine.”

“Thank heaven.” Bridgette sighed, rushing in, Gavin beside her.

Seconds later, sounds of arguing could be heard.

Knowing if it continued, other patients would be disturbed, Violet knocked on the door and breezed in. “How’s it going here?”

Nicholas looked at Violet and pointed at his two older siblings. “Tell them I have every right to drop out of college if that’s what I want.”

What?

Gavin gave Violet a look that said “Help me out here...”

She smiled. “Is this really the time and place to have this discussion? Because there are others in the waiting room still needing to be seen. So...”

“Violet’s right.” Bridgette looked at her younger brother. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll take care of the paperwork,” Gavin said.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked gently after his two siblings had left.

Gavin rubbed a hand over his face.

For the first time she realized what it must have been like for him when his parents died.

Gavin had been about to enter medical school but his twin sisters and younger brother had still been in their teens. It had been up to Gavin and his older sister, Erin, who had been married with kids of her own, to finish raising them. Plus, manage the family’s ranch and Western wear store in town. Erin had insisted Gavin continue with his education, rather than forgo his dreams, and after some initial arguing about whether that was too much for his older sister to handle on her own, he had. He’d returned every few months to help out. And done his best to keep in touch, in between visits, but it couldn’t have been easy for any of them.

Yet never once had she heard Gavin complain.

Gavin dropped his hand to his side. “Yeah. It’s just the accident talking. He’ll be okay when he calms down and comes to his senses.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Gavin shook his head. “Thanks for offering.” He inhaled. “I better call Erin, though. Before she hears about it from anyone else.”

Violet watched him leave with newfound respect. For reasons she couldn’t really explain, she was tempted to stay around awhile anyway to make sure Gavin was really okay in the wake of the traumatic event. Offer comfort. Take him to lunch. Something. But that was ridiculous, she knew. The two of them didn’t have that kind of relationship. They were casual friends, nothing more. If Gavin needed to turn to someone for support, it wouldn’t be to her.

Meanwhile, there were places she was needed. She had things to do at McCabe House. She also wanted to check on Ava before she left the hospital.

To her relief, the newborn was sleeping peacefully.

Meg Carrigan joined her at the incubator. “Funny,” the sixty-year-old nursing supervisor mused, “how easily these little ones grab our hearts and then hold on with all their might.”

Which was considerable, Violet thought. She turned to the trim redhead, who was also a dear family friend. “It still gets to you after all these years?”

Meg nodded. She patted Violet’s shoulder. “Luckily, as each one of these little darlings leaves, another arrives, needing just as much TLC.”

That was true, Violet thought, for the nurses and doctors in NICU. It wouldn’t necessarily hold for her. And that was a good thing. Thus far, despite the fact that all her sisters now had families of their own—or in Poppy’s case, was actively planning one—she had yet to catch baby fever.

Given the fact she’d already had—and lost—the love of her life, she preferred it to stay that way.

* * *

FIVE HOURS LATER Violet opened a window on the second floor of McCabe House. She leaned out, video camera in hand, just in time to see Gavin getting out of his pickup.

He was wearing faded denim jeans, boots and an old button-down shirt, the shirttails hanging out. His clothes looked as comfortable and broken in as her favorite pair of flannel pajamas.

She let her gaze rove his tousled dark hair, broad shoulders and sandpaper hint of beard lining his handsome face. “I didn’t expect to see you again today.”

At 6:00 p.m. she’d expected him to be headed home to bed after pulling the twelve-hour ER shift the previous day, then staying on to help out through most of the afternoon.

He reached into his truck for a file folder, then flashed her a brief smile. “Mitzy stopped me on the way out of the hospital. She wants us to fill out some questionnaires on what we’re looking for in adoptive parents for Ava.”

“You didn’t have to bring it all the way out here.”

“She wants us in agreement on the answers before she sees them. I figured it would be easier to do it in person than on the phone.”

Violet wasn’t sure she understood his logic. Except that doing it in person would allow them the opportunity to gage the expressions on each other’s face to more effectively read their mood.

Not that Gavin was helping her out right now with that. His handsome face was poker-inscrutable. As always.

She sighed, not sure why the fact he was such a mystery was so frustrating to her.

Pushing aside her pique, she asked, “Do you have to work tonight?”

He shook his head. “I don’t go in until midnight tomorrow. But if this is a bad time...”

Truth be told she had nothing ahead of her that evening but finishing her current chore and trying to restore order to the mess she’d made of her Conestoga wagon bedroom that morning. “It’s not. I just need to finish what I’m doing here. You can come on up, if you want. The front door is open.”

She backed out of the window and by the time she had it shut and locked, he was standing in the room, looking like a dark angel in the fading sunlight pouring in through the glass.

As he strode closer, she drank him in from head to toe. Up close, she could see how tired he looked around the eyes. Her heart went out to him. She knew how it felt to come off a long shift. She also knew what it took to keep going and to do what had to be done, regardless of bone-deep fatigue. It was something they’d learned in med school and never forgot.

He inclined his head at the camera in her hand. “What are you filming?”

“The interior of the house, pre-renovation. My sister Callie—”

“The marketing and social media whiz?”

Violet nodded, impressed he could keep all five of her sisters straight. Not everyone could. “She’s going to put together a short film about my late grandparents. Show how they started the hospital as physician and nurse and helped build it into the state-of-the-art county medical facility it is today.”

He fell into step beside her. “I know they were active on the board of directors, even after they retired.”

Proudly, Violet admitted, “John and Lilah helped raise a lot of money to add oncology, neonatal intensive care and cardio-pulmonary care, as well as the medical residency programs for all three. Turning this ranch into living quarters for families dealing with medical crises was their last wish.” She took a breath. “And although they left enough money in their estate to redo the house, and eventually the stable-house, where I’m currently staying—which will eventually house the new director—we’ll need to raise more money if we’re to expand and keep it going as a nonprofit.”

He folded his arms in front of him, the action delineating the strong musculature of his chest. “And that is where the video comes in.”

“We’ll use it to show exactly where the money is going and how much good any donation does.” Violet moved along the hall, filming the empty rooms with the faded paint and wallpaper.

He gave her enough room to work unencumbered. “So when does the construction start?”

Determined not to let him see how much his nearness affected her, Violet raised a blind to let more light into the last room. “They’re bringing the Dumpster tomorrow morning. Once it’s set up, the teardown of the interior will begin.”

“Sounds noisy.” Finished, she turned off the camera and led the way downstairs. “That’s why they make noise-canceling headphones. Luckily—” she winked as she locked up and led the way across the yard to the stable-house “—I brought along a pair. And extra batteries, too.”

Chuckling at her sassy tone, he followed her into the stable-house.

His brow lifted at what he found. “Wow. You’ve been busy.”

* * *

ALTHOUGH WHY, GAVIN THOUGHT, she wanted to be stranded out here, away from all her family and friends, still puzzled him. Was she running away from something? Trying to get her thoughts together? Or fulfilling some cockeyed notion of the McCabe clan’s famous Texas Pioneer spirit?

Hard to say.

But whatever was going on with Violet, she was clearly determined to make it work, at least for the next few months. “It’s a big improvement over the way it looked two days ago,” he continued, impressed.

All the moving boxes had been pushed to the rear of the former stable and were neatly lined up behind the Conestoga wagon that functioned as her bedroom.

On the right side of the large space she had rolled a rug out over the painted concrete floor and arranged a sofa, armchair and two end tables to make a nice conversation area. A big packing trunk served as a coffee table.

On the other side of the room a wooden trestle table provided additional kitchen counter space. It held a microwave, toaster oven and what looked like an electric skillet. The small refrigerator stood next to that. A white wrought-iron patio set now served as the dining room table and chairs.

There were no shades or drapes on the tall casement windows that lined either side of the room, which was where she had placed the Conestoga wagon. Its rounded, white-canvas top would come in handy, he realized, since the flaps could be tied shut on either end, allowing her complete privacy. For changing and—

He didn’t need to be thinking about that.

What she wore—or didn’t wear—to sleep in was none of his business.

Violet looked at the dusky light outside and switched on the overhead lights. Mounted close to the ceiling, they let off the kind of bright fluorescence the hospital corridors afforded. A bonus, given the fact he was a little too interested in the way her thigh-length shorts, faded college T-shirt and sneakers cloaked her spectacular body.

“Do you have the questionnaires?” she asked brusquely, bringing his attention back to where it needed to be once again.

He lifted the manila file amiably. “Right here.”

A faint blush highlighted the elegant contours of her cheeks. She looked around until she found something to write with. “A pen?”

Gavin patted his pocket. Found his cell phone but nothing else. “Ah, no.”

“No problem. I think I have some extra in my bedside drawer. I’ll be right back.” She headed up the stairs and disappeared into the covered wagon.

While Gavin waited, he checked out the ventilation in the room, which seemed comfortably cool despite the warmth of the summer day. Further investigation showed why. Long-handled cranks opened the tall, abundant windows along the very top quarter of the glass. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, cooling and dispersing the fresh air. As a result, the room smelled like the sunny autumn day it had been. Fresh and clean, like the great Texas outdoors.

He could see why she liked it out here, although it had to be lonely, too, he thought. Especially at night.

Almost too quiet.

In the wagon, however, it was anything but.

He could hear things being shifted, occasional muttering and...was that swearing? There was a small crash, a shift of bedsprings and then an even bigger crash.

Followed only by silence.

Gavin waited.

Still nothing.

He began to get a little worried. “Violet? You okay in there?”

The bedsprings creaked.

There was a muffled cry.

“Violet?” he called out again.

And then he heard what sounded like a small, furious scream. What the...?

Gavin took the steps up to the wagon two at a time. He threw back the flap that hid the interior from view.

Violet lay facedown on the bed, her head burrowed in the pillow, one arm tucked awkwardly between the mattress and the end table next to it.

“What the heck are you doing?”

She moaned and lifted her head slightly. “I’m stuck.”

* * *

“STUCK,” GAVIN REPEATED STUPIDLY.

“I had a box of pens and pencils and I knocked them behind the nightstand. I was trying to reach it without moving all my suitcases, storage boxes and garment bags.”

Of which, Gavin noted, there were many. All crammed together in the available space between the mattress and the high wooden sides of the wagon.

He tracked the silky dark mane over her face and shoulders. “You’re really stuck?”

She groaned again and pounded her forehead lightly against the mattress beneath her. “No. I’m just lying here for the fun of it.”

He grinned. A sensually indisposed Violet was a sight to behold. Her temper only added to the allure. “Hang on.” He sprang into action. “I’ll move some of these suitcases.”

A feat that was easier said than done, he quickly discovered. Some boxes were wedged in there pretty tight. Plus, the stack was two and three high on all sides. “What did you pack in these, anyway?” He succeeded in freeing a storage box from the stack, only to have the snapped lid fly off in the process and a whole array of sexy undies come spilling out. About half of which landed on her shoulders and head.

Another string of muffled, surprisingly unladylike profanities filled the silence. She turned her face to his. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Ah, no.” The last thing he needed to see was what kind of undergarments she wore. Now he’d be imagining how she looked in all that sexy satin and lace. “Sorry.” He rescued the rest of her undies and stuffed them all back in the box, snapping the lid on.

“Are these all clothes?”

“Yes. It’s everything I might need for the next three months and then some.”

“Sounds like a woman.” His sisters were notorious clothes-hounds, too.

“And spoken like a man. Are you hurrying?”

Gavin lifted another box of undies and a half-open suitcase of what appeared to be silk pajamas and nightgowns. Who knew she dressed so sexily when she wasn’t at the hospital? Except, in the past five years, she had almost always been at the hospital.

“Gavin?”

“Almost there.”

She moaned.

He shifted the suitcase wedged against the side of the queen-size mattress and the wagon.

She tried to pull free. Groaned again, in what seemed to be real pain this time. “Still stuck...”

No kidding. Her arm remained clamped tight between the nightstand and the bed.

Deftly, Gavin slid one arm between her and the mattress, simultaneously pushing down on the bed while supporting the weight of her chest. Then, still supporting her weight and keeping her trapped arm in place, he used his free hand to shove the mattress several inches away from the nightstand, toward the other side of the wagon.

That gave her just enough wiggle room.

Her breasts pearling tautly against his forearm, she pulled her trapped limb free and rolled onto her back. Rubbing from shoulder to elbow to wrist, she tested the flexibility of her fingers with a beleaguered sigh. “Wow, that hurt!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She sat up, still rubbing the affected limb. Beneath her shirt, he couldn’t help but note her breasts were still taut.

Oblivious to his wicked thoughts, she scoffed playfully. “You mean aside from my wounded pride?”

Glad she hadn’t lost her sense of humor, he grinned and sank down on the bed. He felt the drumbeat of arousal as he faced her. “I kind of like you as a damsel in distress.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, her delicate hands resting on opposite shoulders, at the nape of her neck. “You are so funny.”

Suddenly sensing she needed more comforting than her self-imposed hug could give, he shifted closer. “I’m serious, Violet,” he said softly.

And then he did what he’d been wanting to do since forever. He took her into his arms, tilted her face up to his and kissed her.

Chapter Four

Violet wanted to say she was surprised. That she hadn’t expected Gavin to ever kiss her. But that would not be true.

She could tell by the way he had been looking at her the past day or so that he had been considering doing just that.

What was worse, she had been feeling the exact same urge.

She didn’t know whether it was the fact they suddenly both found themselves responsible for baby Ava’s future, or the fact that Gavin was just so damn sexy. All she knew for sure was that when he’d come to her rescue and slid his brawny arm beneath her, her body had responded with a lightning bolt of desire that had started in her breasts and exploded like a thundercloud inside her. And now that he was kissing her, a second, even more powerful wave had started to surge. Driven, this time, by the hot, ardent press of his lips and the evocative sweep of his tongue.

He tasted so incredibly good, she realized as her eyes fluttered shut. Like mint and man, desire and determination. And it wasn’t just physical need he was conjuring up. There was a sudden riptide of long-suppressed feelings, too. The fact she had been alone, too long. An aching awareness of just how lost she had been and a deep, bolstering need for more...

And still Gavin kissed her, tangling her tongue with his, arousing even more passion and need. With a sound that was half whimper of protest, half sigh of submission, she allowed him to unwind her hands from her shoulders and drape them over the broad width of his. She let him fit his chest to hers and then, the next thing she knew, he altered her center of balance. She was sliding sideways on the bed. He was shifting her onto her back, moving over her, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs moving erotically across the crests. And, dear heaven, that felt so...darn...good, too.

Violet groaned again.

If they kept this up, they would make love.

And she knew—for so many reasons, baby Ava among the most important of them—she could not let that happen.

The situation was confused enough as it was.

With a soft whimper she put both hands on his shoulders, broke the kiss and pushed him away.

* * *

GAVIN OPENED HIS EYES and shifted onto his side, unsure whether Violet looked relieved or disappointed he had stopped.

He knew he was both.

For as much as he wanted to make love to her right here and now, the more pragmatic part of him knew that doing so would have been a colossal mistake.

Violet was the most idealistic woman he had ever met.

She believed in love with all her heart and soul.

Not hookups.

Not tawdry one-night stands.

When she made love with a man again—and he was determined now, after kissing her, that it would be with him—she would want it to mean something.

The surprise was that he wanted their coming together to mean something, too.

She took a conciliatory breath. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Gavin grinned, aware he was enjoying spending time with her more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time. “For what? Kissing me back?”

Violet shook her head as if that would get her back on track and locked eyes with him. “No. For doing whatever it was I did to lead you on.”

Ah. So this is the way she’s going to play it.

She straightened, her face still flushed with desire, and scooted her hips to the foot of the bed.

“You didn’t lead me on,” he said, testing her, too.

She glanced back at him, her tousled hair enticingly spilling over her shoulders.

Resisting the urge to run his hands through the silky strands, he concentrated on the just-kissed softness of her lips before returning his attention to her eyes. “You’ve always made it clear you’re still in love with Sterling.”

There was a long, thoughtful pause that seemed to indicate he had guessed wrong about that.

Finally, she tilted her head. “Then you do understand.”

He had the distinct impression they were talking about two different things.

“Frankly, I’m envious.” Gavin was prodding, trying to figure out what exactly was holding her back if not her love for her late fiancé. “He was a lucky guy.”

Violet slid off the edge of the bed. “Until he died when he was twenty-five.”

Gavin swore silently. He had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time in these kinds of situations. He stood, too. “You know what I mean.”

“I just don’t like it when people tell me how great we had it. Or how lucky we were to have found each other. Because nothing about it feels lucky, Gavin.” She paused, her lower lip quivering.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly pulling her into his arms and giving her the hug she seemed to need.

For an instant she sank into him. When she pulled back, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “Forget all the books and movies, Gavin,” she whispered. “There’s nothing romantic about having a terminal illness. For the patient, or his or her loved ones.” She swallowed, pressing a palm to her forehead. “It just...”

“Sucks. I know. And I am sorry. For wanting to understand and not being able to because I haven’t walked a mile in your shoes.”

Again their eyes met. This time she accepted his acknowledgment of her pain.

After a moment her expression changed and she took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Moving on...” She brushed past him, to the narrow aisle he had created. “I still forgot to get pens!” This time when she reached down between the mattress and nightstand, there was just enough room. She bounded back up, plastic box filled with writing utensils clasped in hand. “Now, on to what we should be doing. Filling out those questionnaires...”

* * *

“WHY NOT ADMIT you made a mistake with this whole glamping thing and move in with me temporarily,” Violet’s oldest sister, Poppy, said the next day when she arrived to assess Violet’s storage needs. Fiercely independent, and the only single-birthed daughter of Jackson and Lacey McCabe—who also boasted a set of twins and triplet daughters—Poppy was an interior designer, known for her practicality, efficiency and style.

“I just need a neat and inexpensive way to organize my clothes so I’m not tripping over them or rooting through boxes and suitcases for the next few months.”

And, Violet thought, still getting hot and bothered whenever she thought about it, she especially didn’t need to be rolling around on her bed kissing Gavin Monroe! Not that she was obsessing over their hot, sexy clinch or anything.

Poppy walked around the large space, measuring, thinking, making notes. She swung back around. “I have plenty of room in my bungalow, you know.”

Violet looked at the gray clouds on the horizon. “Thanks, sis, but I’d rather be here.”

Poppy frowned. “Aren’t you lonely?”

She sure hadn’t been last night. Gavin had stayed another hour and a half, as they’d taken their time with the questionnaires, debating each fine point, wondering what would be best for their tiny charge.

But at least he hadn’t tried to kiss her again when he left—

The sound of a big tractor-trailer roaring up the lane jerked Violet from her reverie.

She and Poppy moved to the open screen door. They looked out to see the arrival of the big steel Dumpster for the construction debris, and another six pickup trucks carrying the workers.

“I mean, it’s so quiet out here in off-hours. And it looks like it’s going to be really noisy during work hours.”

“I can handle that.” Violet pointed to her headphones. “As for the rest of the time, I like my solitude.”

Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Too much sometimes?”

Everyone had thought that, after Sterling died. What they hadn’t understood was how much the alone time had helped Violet to process her loss and work through not only her grief but the many mistakes she had made, the countless ways she had let Sterling down.

Now, finally, she was ready to move on.

She just wasn’t sure to where or to what.

All she knew for sure was that she felt stuck. And the only way to get out of her rut was to seek change. Big, life-altering change. In the meantime, though...

“I have the transformation of McCabe House to keep me occupied.” She glanced at her watch. “And I have to get to the hospital, too.”

“To check on the baby you and Gavin are temporary guardians for?”

Violet nodded, aware that with the exception of the four phone calls she’d made to the nurses’ station in the Special Care Nursery, she had sort of been delaying going back there in person. For reasons she didn’t really understand.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the baby could go to a couple who isn’t married?”

Violet knew that Poppy and her best friend, the currently deployed Lieutenant Trace Caulder, were trying to adopt—without getting married.

“The mother’s wishes were clear. She wanted her baby to have a mother and a father who are in a committed relationship, if possible.” She continued walking around with her older sister, showing her the space. “So Gavin and I talked it over and decided it would be best if Ava went to a married couple with an established family unit.”

Poppy stopped to measure a length of windowless wall. “Which would put me and Trace out of the running, since the good lieutenant isn’t due back in the United States for a visit for another ten months or so.” She sighed wistfully.

Violet held one end of the tape measure for her. “Ava needs new parents as soon as possible. Luckily, Mitzy is expediting the process. So it all should happen fairly quickly.”

“It’s a good thing that, unlike me, you don’t fall completely in love with every infant you see.”

Violet bit her lip. Truth was, the pang of longing she’d felt deep inside when she’d gotten her first glimpse of little Ava had caught her completely off guard. And she hadn’t even held her in her arms yet!

But, for obvious reasons, she wasn’t about to admit that to her sister.

Poppy jotted down a final set of numbers. She looked back up, a fleeting sadness in her eyes as the two of them strolled toward the door. “Anyway, back to your current storage problem... I’ll pull a solution together for you and then let you know what we’re going to need.”

“Thanks, Poppy.” Violet gave her big sister a hug and watched as she drove off. She signed off on the delivery of the Dumpster, talked to the construction foreman, then headed into town, the completed questionnaires in tow.

Mitzy was out on a home visit, so she left the paperwork at her office, then went on to the hospital. Carlson Willoughby was undergoing the first of several days of testing. Since the results weren’t yet in, she went up to the nursery to check on their charge and caught her breath at what she saw.

Gavin, sitting beside the incubator, a blanket-wrapped baby Ava cuddled gently in his arms. The tiny infant had a pink cap on her head, a nasal cannula still assisting her breathing, monitors that measured her heartbeat and breathing visible beneath the soft white blanket that surrounded her.

Her eyes were shut and she appeared to be sleeping.

Violet could hardly blame her.

To be held against that strong, warm chest, cradled so tenderly by those brawny arms...

Violet grabbed a sterile gown, put it on over her clothes and slipped into the small, dimly lit visiting room behind the glass window.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Gavin looked up at her. “The nurses wanted me to hold her for a little bit.”

She ambled closer. “I can see that.”

The tenderness in his expression made him all the more handsome. “I have to admit, I never really understood why the parents of premature infants were so loath to leave the nursery and head home to rest.”

She nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. “But you get it now.”

He shot her a knowing grin. “You should give it a try.”

“I don’t want to interrupt...”

He stood and gestured toward the comfortable recliner-rocker he’d been sitting in.

Unable to summon a reason why she shouldn’t start fulfilling her duties as temporary guardian, too, Violet took his place in the seat that still held his warmth. And the enticing soap-and-man scent of his skin.

Gently, he transferred Ava to her arms.

The preemie was incredibly light and fragile, at just a little more than four pounds. As Violet looked down at Ava, a wave of tenderness unlike anything she had ever felt swept through her.

Gavin pulled another chair up to sit beside Violet. Together, they watched the sleeping baby. Neither speaking. Barely moving. Yet united just the same.

Who knew how long they would have stayed that way had Bridgette, the nurse on duty, not come in to reluctantly interrupt. “It’s time to put Ava back in the warmer. But if you’d like to come back later this evening to help us try to get her started on drinking formula from a bottle, that would be great.”

Gavin and Violet exchanged looks. “I’ll be here,” Violet said.

To her surprise Gavin said gruffly, “So will I.”

Bridgette nodded, accepting the news with the same equanimity she accepted the infant. Bridgette looked at her big brother. “Would you mind hanging around for a moment? I really need to talk to you about Nicholas. And, Violet, if you’ve got a moment, I’d like your opinion, too.”

* * *

AS SOON AS Ava was settled, Bridgette told her coworkers she was taking her break.

The three of them headed for the staff lounge, which was blissfully empty. Although not sure what she might have to contribute in what seemed to be a Monroe family matter, Violet was glad to be of assistance in any way that she could.

Violet and Gavin both got coffee, while Bridgette grabbed a bottle of water. “Nicholas rented a car and went back to Austin this morning,” she said.

“That’s good,” Gavin said.

Bridgette took a seat on the sofa. Violet settled opposite her, and Gavin sank down beside her, close enough she was aware of his steady male presence but not close enough to be touching.

His sister looked worried. “I’m not so sure. He hasn’t been the same since the accident.”

Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Medically?”

“Emotionally,” Bridgette corrected. “Swerving to avoid running over that deer changed him. He said he saw his life flash before his eyes. And he didn’t like what he saw. So far, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin chided.

“I don’t know. But I have this uneasy sense that he’s planning something.” Bridgette turned to Violet. “You have a lot of experience with young adult patients coming close to the brink, then recovering and trying to resume a normal life. Does that seem like a common reaction to you?”

Reluctantly, Violet admitted, “If something’s brewing in a person, yes, it usually erupts under the stress.” As it had with Sterling.

Gavin turned to her, his shoulder nudging hers in the process. “What should we do?”

What I didn’t, Violet thought before she answered.

“Listen to whatever your brother has to say. And take Nicholas seriously—even if it seems like he’s coming out of left field.”

Gavin promised Bridgette, “I’ll give him a call later this evening...see if he’ll tell me what’s on his mind.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Bridgette said, standing.

The three of them said goodbye and Bridgette went back to work. Gavin and Violet left the staff lounge.

“So what now?” Gavin said as they walked toward the elevator.

Violet hated to admit just how at loose ends she was. After five years of residency, never having a moment to spare, this barely working at all would get old fast. Even if she was still trying to figure out what the next phase of her life held.

She punched the down button. “As far as work goes, I’m still waiting on the results of Carlson Willoughby’s tests, but otherwise I’m not on call today so—” Violet’s phone vibrated.

When she looked at the screen, there was an email from her sister. Reading it quickly, Violet groaned.

“Problem?” Gavin asked, rocking forward on his toes and hooking his thumbs through the denim loops on either side of his fly.

The elevator arrived and the door opened. It was a little crowded, so they had no choice but to squeeze together to avoid stepping on other passengers.

The warmth of his body sent a new flood of desire through her. “Poppy is going to set me up with a movable wardrobe system, but I’m going to have to drive to a store in San Angelo to pick up the components.”

The elevator opened up on the lobby. “Will you be able to fit it all in your SUV?”

Violet hesitated, unsure.

Gavin gestured gallantly. “My truck is available. As am I.”

Was he hitting on her? Or just being helpful? Hard to tell. “You’d really want to do that on your day off?”

His grin widened. “Sure. If you buy me lunch first.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “I take it you have a place in mind.”

He fell into step beside her as they headed outside into the gloomy autumn day. “I do.”

To ensure they would be able to cart everything back to Laramie, they drove separately and ended up at a popular Mexican restaurant in San Angelo. Violet ordered the enchiladas supreme and he followed suit.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of enchiladas,” she teased as they dug in to their combination plate of chicken, cheese, beef and bean enchiladas, accompanied by a side of Mexican rice.

“I’m trying to expand my horizons.”

“Away from steak fajitas?” Which, she knew, from attending the same hospital staff luncheons for the past five years, happened to be his favorite. Not that she had been noticing or anything.

“In a lot of ways.”

His expression was both deadpan and mysterious. So why was she thinking about kissing him again? And why was he suddenly looking a tad uncomfortable, too?

“So, about those questionnaires we filled out last night...” He swallowed and took a long thirsty drink of iced tea. “Do you really think the age cutoff for applicants should be thirty-five instead of forty?”

Back to Ava and their joint responsibility, which was where their attention should be. Violet met his eyes, her mood suddenly introspective. “You think twenty-five to thirty-five is too narrow a range for prospective parents?”

“I don’t want to go any younger, but I don’t think it would hurt to go a little older. There’s something to be said for maturity.”

She nodded tensely.

His blue gaze roved her face. “You don’t look happy.”

Her appetite fading, Violet put her fork down. “It’s a big decision.”

“We’ll find the right family,” Gavin promised as an intimate silence descended between them.

“You sound so sure.”

He quirked a brow. “You doubt that?”

Violet sat back in her chair. “On an intellectual level I know that, statistically, given how many people there are in this county alone who are ready, willing and able to adopt a newborn child, it should be no problem to find a home for Ava.”

“But?” He finished his iced tea in a single draught.

“Knowing that doesn’t make the prospect of selecting parents for Ava any easier.” It was such an overwhelming responsibility! More so since she’d actually met the precious newborn and held her in her arms.

Gavin touched her hand.

Violet swallowed and pushed on around the sudden parched feeling in her throat. “What if we choose the wrong family? What if there are too many potential adoptive parents who fit the criteria perfectly? How will we choose just one set of parents without feeling like we are somehow being unfair to whoever didn’t get chosen?”

He shrugged, let go of her hand and sat back, too. “How about we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

“You’re right. I know that.” She sighed as the waitress delivered their check.

And, as promised, Violet paid it.

Luckily, they now had things to do to keep them busy.

The wardrobe components, which were supposed to be ready for her, had not yet been pulled off the shelf. So she and Gavin went around the store with a flatbed-style cart, selecting the appropriate shelving and hardware.

“How many clothes do you have?” he asked with a bemused smile.

Aware she’d gotten everything she needed, Violet took a place in one of the checkout lines. Gavin stood behind her. “You saw them last night. All those suitcases, plastic storage containers and duffel bags around my bed.”

He stacked the heavy boxes containing the movable closet onto the end of the conveyer belt. “Ah, yes, the feminine mess of it all.”

Violet set the accessories on top, then turned to him as they waited for the customer in front of them to finish. She propped her hands on her waist. “Excuse me?”

He waggled his brows, teasing, “I’ve got three sisters. I know what it looks like when they have a wardrobe crisis.”

Guilty as charged, unfortunately.

Flushing, Violet added more accessories to the conveyer belt. “I wasn’t having one,” she fibbed, unwilling to admit how the crisis she was having had spread to all areas of her life. “I just lugged the stuff up there so I could lay it all out on my bed and sort through it. Which I started to do this morning—”

“Meaning it’s even more cluttered now than it was last night?”

The young male clerk grinned as he finished ringing them up.

Violet gave an indignant sniff. “I couldn’t find what I wanted to wear to the hospital this morning. And I was in a hurry to get there.” She handed over her credit card, then stepped up to sign.

Finished, she took the receipt, smiled and thanked the clerk, then followed Gavin out the automatic doors to the parking lot.

Aware how cozy and right this was all beginning to feel, she stopped at the tail ends of their vehicles and picked up the threads of the conversation as she opened her SUV. “Although I would have rushed even more had I known I was going to have the opportunity to hold Ava for the first time this morning.”

He paused in lowering his tailgate and turned to her, an expression of unbearable tenderness on his handsome face. “It was a moment,” he admitted with surprising reverence.

Violet wasn’t surprised to hear Gavin admit that. He was compassionate, as well as practical and forthright, down to his very soul.

She was surprised, however, to see him look so personally affected. He’d never been one to lust after having kids, the way some guys his age did. Yet in this particular instant, she could almost swear he’d started to want a family as much as she once had with Sterling.

Only, that part of her relationship with him hadn’t worked out, either, she thought as her cell phone vibrated.

She looked at the screen and frowned.

“Problem?”

“I need to go back to the hospital. Carlson Willoughby and his wife are asking to speak to me.”

* * *

“WE NEED MORE information before we’ll be able to say for certain what’s going on,” Violet told the senior couple forty-five minutes later when she joined them in Carlson’s hospital room.

“But some of the results are in, aren’t they?” Wanda asked, wringing her hands. Today’s tracksuit was a daffodil yellow, with white racing stripes running up the sides of the pants and sleeves. “I heard some of the nurses talking...”

Violet glanced over at her patient. He looked tired and washed-out. The stress of the tests had definitely taken a toll on the eighty-two-year-old. “We’re still waiting for the radiologist’s report on the X-rays that were done today, but we do have the blood work.”

“And?” Wanda asked.

Violet consulted the chart. “Some of the numbers—white count and calcium, for instance—are up.”

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