Praise for Susan Carlisle:

‘Thank you, Ms Carlisle, for sharing your story with us

through Scott and Hannah, and showing us

the many ways that true love can win.’

—Goodreads on HEART SURGEON, HERO … HUSBAND?

Shelby watched, along with everyone else, as the expensive-looking loafer touched the pavement. In one athletic movement a man slipped out of the low car. His gaze met hers through the window. Her breath caught in her throat. His piercing look made her wonder if he could see secrets she’d kept hidden. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement.

His gaze traveled back and forth along the line of stores in the mostly abandoned strip mall. If it hadn’t been for the brief twist of contempt marring his looks he would’ve qualified for the term “dangerously attractive.”

How dared he act as if Benton was beneath him? After her husband, Jim, died continuing to live and work here had been the best decision she’d ever made. The community had supported her one hundred and ten percent as she grieved. Each person had their own little quirks but they all had big hearts.

The new doctor still held the room’s attention as he stepped to the door and pulled. The front of his car rested so far over the sidewalk that it wouldn’t allow the door to open far enough for him to enter.

Shelby couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips as she checked a chuckle. He was making a notable first impression on the locals sitting in the waiting room. Everyone in town would be enjoying this story by bedtime.

Dear Reader

Sometimes people ‘drive fast and live hard’ in order to forget the past. They run away, hoping the further they get from their memories the less those memories will matter. Others use their job to replace an intimate relationship. Of course Shelby and Taylor are no different, so that’s why I loved seeing them fight their feelings and find their happily-ever-after. I hope you appreciate Shelby’s and Taylor’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Theirs wasn’t a smooth road to love, but I had a good time travelling along with them just the same.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the issue of bullying, which happens so often to school-age children. It’s important to call attention to this issue and stop it when we can. So many children and young adults live with horrible memories of their childhood because they were bullied. If you see it happening intervene, and share a positive word with the person being hurt. You might very well be the one person who makes a difference in that child’s life.

Even though the places and people in this story are fictitious, the setting of west Tennessee holds a special place in my heart. I spent part of my childhood living there, and still enjoy returning every now and then. It’s a beautiful part of the US, and the people are always warm and welcoming when I visit.

I love to hear from my readers. Stop by and say hi at www.SusanCarlisle.com. I promise to say hi back!

Happy reading!

Susan

About the Author

SUSAN CARLISLE’s love affair with books began when she made a bad grade in math in the sixth grade. Not allowed to watch TV until she’d brought the grade up, she filled her time with books and became a voracious romance reader. She has ‘keepers’ on the shelf to prove it. Because she loved the genre so much she decided to try her hand at creating her own romantic worlds. She still loves a good happily-ever-after-story.

When not writing Susan doubles as a high school substitute teacher, which she has been doing for sixteen years. Susan lives in Georgia with her husband of twenty-eight years and has four grown children. She loves castles, travelling, cross-stitching, hats, James Bond and hearing from her readers.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE NURSE HE SHOULDN’T NOTICE

HEART SURGEON, HERO … HUSBAND?

Also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

Hot-Shot Doc

Comes to Town

Susan Carlisle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Mom. For all your love and support.

CHAPTER ONE

THE flash of red in the parking space directly in front of the Benton Clinic door caught Dr. Shelby Wayne’s attention. Great, this could only be the bad-boy doctor her uncle had told her to expect, and over six hours late.

Squinting, she looked through the dusty plate-glass window at the slick convertible sports car on the other side. As far as she knew, no one in that area of western Tennessee had a car nearly as fine as the one now almost blocking the door. This was big-truck not fancy-car country.

Babysitting her Uncle Gene’s most recent personal project wasn’t her idea of a good time. But needing help at the clinic so badly meant she couldn’t send him back to Nashville. Still if she could get two weeks’ worth of free medical help out of it, she’d bend over backwards to accommodate her uncle. Maybe if she played her cards right she could convince the doctor that his skills would be better utilized in Benton than where he was currently working.

If she wanted the clinic to remain open, she’d have to find some help soon.

She glanced at the clipboard for the name of her next patient then scanned the packed waiting room for Mrs. Stewart. It would be a waste of time to try to get the attention of the sweet little grandmotherly woman with a hearing problem over the din in the tiny room. As she walked towards Mrs. Stewart the people waiting quieted, and all eyes turned to look out the window.

Shelby watched, along with everyone else, as the expensive-looking loafer touched the pavement. In one athletic movement a man slipped out of the low car. His gaze met hers through the window. Her breath caught in her throat. His piercing look made her wonder if he could see secrets she’d kept hidden. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement.

His gaze traveled back and forth along the line of stores in the mostly abandoned strip mall. If it hadn’t been for the brief twist of contempt marring his looks he would’ve qualified for the term “dangerously attractive”.

How dared he act as if Benton was beneath him? After her husband Jim had died, continuing to live and work here had been the best decision she’d ever made. Her parents had encouraged her to move back to her home town to practice but she’d decided Benton was where she belonged. It was where she and Jim had chosen to make their home. Benton had supported her a hundred and ten percent as she’d grieved. Each person had their own little quirks but they all had a big hearts. Here she felt secure.

The new doctor still held the room’s attention as he stepped to the door and pulled. The front of his car rested so far over the sidewalk that it wouldn’t allow the door to open far enough for him to enter.

Shelby couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips as she checked a chuckle. He was making a notable first impression on the locals sitting in the waiting room. Everyone in town would be enjoying this story by bedtime. That was one of the great things about living in a small town, though it could also be the worst. Everyone knew everything. When you had a tragedy your friends and neighbors were there to support you, but when there was a good story to tell they spread it.

The man snarled and murmured a sharp word under his breath. Turning, he took three quick strides back to the driver’s door, opened it and slid behind the wheel with the same grace as when he’d alighted. Leaving one leg hanging outside the open door, he started the car. The windows of the clinic vibrated slightly as he backed the vehicle up until the entire sidewalk could be seen. As quickly as he’d started the car he shut off the engine, got out and slammed the door.

His long strides brought him towards the entrance of the clinic again. The only indication in his demeanor that he might still be annoyed was the jerk he gave the clinic door.

Shelby smiled but not too broadly so that he wouldn’t think she’d been laughing at him. “You must be Dr. Stiles. I was expecting you hours ago.”

“Are you Dr. Wayne?”

She offered him her hand. “I’m Dr. Shelby Wayne.”

He shook her hand. “With the name Shelby I had expected a man. Taylor Stiles.”

His clasp was firm. Warm and dry. Not the dead-fish handshake she’d anticipated from the fancy-dressed, showy-car-driving, big-city doctor.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Shelby said with a hint of sarcasm.

“If you two young people are through putting on a show …” Mrs. Stewart looked pointedly at Taylor Stiles “… and making nice, would one of you mind seeing about my sciatica?”

Taylor blinked in surprise. As if on cue, the room erupted in noise as though the curtain had closed and the play was over.

Shelby cleared her throat. She loved the outspoken and to-the-point woman. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Stewart. You’re next.” Shelby handed the clipboard to Dr. Stiles. “Call the next patient under Mrs. Stewart’s name and put him or her in room two.” She pointed down the short hallway. “I’ll be in after I see Mrs. Stewart.”

Dr. Stiles’s dashing brow rose a fraction of an inch but he accepted the clipboard. Apparently he wasn’t used to taking direction. His deep baritone voice called little Greg Hankins’s name while she guided Mrs. Stewart to exam room one.

“Kind of snooty, that one, but still mighty handsome,” Mrs. Stewart remarked as she took a seat in the chair in the room.

“Um, I guess,” Shelby said as she flipped through the seventy-four-year-old’s chart.

“I could tell by the look on your face you noticed it too. Doc Shelby, you have to start living again. It’s been three years. Your Jim is dead, not you.”

A stab of pain came with that frank statement about her husband. There had been nothing she could do when she’d reached the accident. Despite not being far behind Jim in her own car, his truck had already been wrapped around a tree when she arrived at the scene. Nothing she’d done had stopped his blood from pooling in the mangled metal. The sight, the smell … She’d retched. Three years later she could at least do everything in her power to honor his memory by keeping the clinic open any way she could. The people of Benton she loved so much needed the medical care and she needed the security of knowing she was needed.

“Now, Mrs. Stewart …” Shelby smiled “… I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not you seeing about me.”

“Well, missy, I think you don’t want to see about you, so I’m just going to have to.”

Shelby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why don’t you let me examine you, then we can work on me?” Adjusting her bright pink stethoscope in her ears, she placed the disk on the woman’s chest.

“All you think about is this clinic. Maybe with Dr. Kildare here you can have a little fun for a change,” the old woman groused.

“Dr. Kildare?”

“Yeah, he was one of those handsome TV doctors before your time. That new doctor makes me think of him. All tall, dark and handsome.”

Shelby laughed. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re outrageous.” Mrs. Stewart’s youngest son had to be older than Dr. Stiles. “You don’t even know him and I really don’t either. Anyway, he’s only going to be helping out for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, but you could have a little fun for a while. You’re not dead. So stop acting like it.”

Shelby patted the woman’s arm. “For you I will try, I promise.”

Without a doubt he had messed up this time. There had been no talking the judge out of his decision. Community service in a rural area. His lawyer had cautioned against arguing with the judge but Taylor had tried anyway. If he didn’t have such a lead foot, he’d still be in Nashville in his nice modern trauma department instead of in a town like Benton. He’d run from a town similar to this one years ago and had never returned.

Taylor lifted the large-for-his-age two-year-old boy up onto the metal exam table. Where in the world did you go to find a piece of medical office equipment from the 1950s?

Thump, thump the table responded in rebellion as the boy’s heels hit its side.

It was a sturdy table, Taylor would give it that.

The thin, frail mother carefully placed a brown bag she’d been carrying on the floor. She reminded Taylor of how his mother had looked when he had been a child, work weary and sad.

“So what’s wrong with Greg?” Taylor looked at the boy’s mother while keeping a hand on the wiggling child.

At one time he’d been like this little boy, dirty and wearing hand-me-down clothes from the church thrift closet. The sharp bite of memory froze him for a second. He pushed it aside. He hadn’t dwelled on his dysfunctional childhood in years and he refused to start again today.

“I think he has something in his nose. We’ll wait and let Doc Wayne take it out.”

The mother doesn’t trust me. Taylor didn’t like that. He was the one with the knowledge who worked in a well-respected hospital, who had managed to get out of a nowhere town like this one, and she questioned his abilities. Turning away as if to get something, he gathered his patience.

Taylor faced the mother again. “Well, why don’t I just take a quick look, okay?” Taylor forced his best smile for the mother then sought the otoscope that should have been hanging on the wall. “Uh, excuse me I need to find a light.”

“There’s a flashlight in the drawer.” The mother pointed to the metal stand beside him.

Taylor pulled the drawer open and found what he needed, including plastic gloves. He checked inside the boy’s nose. “There it is. In his left nostril. A lima bean, I believe. Do you mind if I get it out? Dr. Wayne will be busy for a while.”

“I guess it’ll be all right,” the mother said without much enthusiasm.

“Let me find—”

“The big tweezers thing is in the jar on top of the stand,” the mother said in a dry tone.

“So how often has Greg been in with this type of problem?” Taylor asked as he reached for the instrument in the outdated clear sterile jar.

“This is the third time in two weeks.”

“Really. That often?” Taylor nodded his head thoughtfully. “Greg, you just lean back and hold still. I’ll have that old bean out in no time,” he said sternly enough so the boy would do as instructed but not so harshly as to scare him. The bean slipped out with a gentle tug and Taylor dropped it into the trash can, along with the gloves.

“Okay, young man, you’re done here.” Taylor picked up the boy and set him on his feet.

As if Taylor had pushed the button of a doorbell, the boy burst out crying then wailing. His slight mother hefted the child into her arms. “Shu, what’s wrong, honey? Did the doctor hurt you?”

Great, now she’s making the kid afraid of me.

“Sucker, I want a sucker,” the child demanded between gasps.

Over the noise, Taylor asked, “Has Dr. Wayne been giving Greg a sucker each time she’s taken something out of his nose?”

The woman nodded.

“Greg,” Taylor said firmly, gaining the boy’s attention and shutting off his tantrum. “If you don’t put anything in your nose for one week then your mother will bring you by to get a sucker. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded his agreement and plopped his filthy thumb into his mouth.

“Good. See you next week.”

As they exited the room the mother handed Taylor the brown sack she’d been carrying with extra care. “Your pay.”

“Uh, thank you.”

As the mother and child walked back down the hall toward the waiting area, Taylor unrolled the top of the bag. Nestled inside were six brown eggs. He crushed the top of the bag. He could remember his mother not being able to pay the doctor and bartering her house-cleaning services for medical care for him and his siblings. Of all the places the judge could have sent him, why did it have to be here?

“Where’s my patient?” Dr. Wayne demanded as she looked around him into the room.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I examined him, and he’s left.”

Her shoulders went back, her chest came forward. He would’ve taken time to enjoy the sight if it hadn’t been for her flashing gray eyes.

“That’s not what I instructed you to do.”

“I’m a doctor. I treated a patient. End of story.”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments. The blood rose in her face. More calmly than her appearance indicated she said, “We need to step into my office.”

Turning, she walked to the end of the hallway. Apparently it wasn’t until she reached the office door that she realized he hadn’t moved. She glared at him.

Not appreciating being treated like a school child being called to the principal’s office, Taylor resigned himself to putting up with her bossy ways for the time being. The judge had stated in no uncertain terms—clinic or jail.

“Coming, Dr. Wayne,” he said, loud enough to be heard but with zero sincerity.

After he’d entered the office, she closed the flimsy door behind him. “Dr. Stiles, you will not come into my clinic six hours late and start doing as you please. If you’d been here on time I could’ve instructed you in the clinic protocol.”

Straight chestnut hair that touched the ridge of her shoulders swayed as she spoke. Taylor would describe her as cute in a college co-ed sort of way. Her practical black slacks and white shirt did nothing to move her up on the looks scale.

“These are my people. I won’t have you showing up for two short weeks and taking over. I cannot, will not, have you here for God knows what reason and let you destroy the trust I’ve built with my patients. I expect you to follow my instructions.”

Who did this woman think she was, talking to him that way? Taylor carefully set the bag of eggs down on the desk. Turning his back to it, he placed his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned back.

“Doctor,” he said, with enough disdain to make the word sound like he questioned whether or not that was the correct term. He took pleasure in watching the thrust of her breasts indicating her indignation as his barb struck home. “I won’t be relegated to being your nurse. I’m the chief trauma doctor of a major hospital in Nashville. I can assure you that there will be few, if any, problems you see in this small, backwards clinic that I’ll need your handholding for.

“I don’t like being here any more than you obviously like having me. But what I can tell you is that I’m a good doctor. By no choice of my own, your patients are also my patients for the time being. Now, I suggest that we get back to that room full of people you’re so concerned about.”

Her mouth opened and closed. A sense of satisfaction filled him at having so thoroughly shut her up. Based on the last few minutes the next couple of weeks wouldn’t be dull.

The infuriating doctor was calling his next patient before Shelby gathered her wits enough to follow him out of the office and down the hall. She’d never before forgotten about having patients waiting. It was a source of pride that she’d always put them first. Not even here a day and this egotistical doctor her uncle had sent had scrambled her brain. How was she supposed to survive the days ahead while having the likes of him in her face?

Who did he think he was talking to? The Benton Medical Clinic was hers. Her and Jim’s dream. She’d make it clear later this evening who was in charge. For now she had to admit the high-handed doctor was right, she had patients to see.

The afternoon wore on and the most contact she had with Dr. Stiles was when they passed in the hall. It was narrow and their bodies brushed when they maneuvered by each other. For once she regretted not insisting that the landlord let her and Jim change the already existing partitions and make the hallway wider. Before they’d converted it to a medical clinic, the space had been an insurance company office without a large amount of traffic in the hallway.

The first time they passed each other her body went harp-string tight as a tingle rippled through her. She pushed it away, convincing herself it was a delayed reaction to being so irate with him. The next time he was too close was when he looked down at her with his dark steady gaze and said, “By the way, where’s the nurse?”

“Don’t have one. I have a teenager who’s usually here but she’s out sick today.”

“Really,” he said in astonishment. For a second she thought she saw admiration in his eyes. She wasn’t sure why it mattered but she liked the thought that he might be impressed by something she did.

When he left her she felt like she’d just stepped out of a hot bath—all warm from head to toe. Thankfully she managed not to cross his path again.

Enough of those thoughts, Shelby scolded herself as she knelt to clean juice from the linoleum. The juice had spilt when a child had thrown a cup. Using a hand on her knee for balance, she pushed up and brushed her clothes off. Instead of her uniform of slacks and shirts she wished she could wear cute sundresses to work, but having to be the cleaning crew meant that wasn’t practical.

She looked at the bright red car parked front and center of the door. Despite the fact the cost of it alone could finance the clinic for weeks, maybe months if she was thrifty, she’d love to climb into it and let her hair blow in the wind. Forget all her cares for a while. With a deep sigh she picked up the window cleaner. The trouble was, all her concerns would still be right here waiting. It was her responsibility to see that the clinic remained open.

Footfalls on the floor tiles drew her attention. Shelby moved out of the way so the last patient of the day could leave. “How’re you, Mrs. Ferguson?” she asked the barrel-round woman with the white face.

“I would’ve been better if you hadn’t been too busy to see me,” she grumbled.

“How’s that? Did Dr. Stiles not take good care of you?” The man was going to be out of here tonight if he’d upset Mrs. Ferguson.

“I don’t like strange doctors looking me over,” she groused.

Relieved there was nothing more to her concern than that, Shelby watched Taylor approach. As Mrs. Stewart had remarked, he was good looking but Shelby was more interested in his abilities, and those she couldn’t question. He’d held up his end of the workload, she’d have to give him that. Most of the patients had been unsure about seeing him but had cautiously agreed when they’d been told how long they’d have to wait to see her. Most had given in and decided to let Taylor examine them. But there was a little part of Shelby that liked knowing she was their first choice.

“Dr. Stiles will only be helping out until the end of the month.”

“Good,” Mrs. Ferguson said, as she shifted her oversized bag on her ample hip. “Then things will get back to normal around here.”

“So, are you two ladies talking about me?” Dr. Stiles came to stand beside them and flashed Mrs. Ferguson a grin.

Was there no end to the man’s ego? “No.” The word came out harsher than Shelby had intended, making her look guilty of doing exactly what he’d accused them of.

The twinkle in Taylor’s eyes told her he knew it too. “Mrs. Ferguson, why don’t I walk you out?”

She gave him a startled look. “Uh, I guess that would be all right.” The woman clutched her purse in her sausage-sized fingers and shuffled towards the door.

Shelby made a swipe with the glass cleaner as she observed Taylor helping Mrs. Ferguson into her car. A summer breeze lifted the deep waves of his brown hair as he strolled back toward the clinic. Would it be soft and silky to the touch?

Shaking her head at thoughts like that, Shelby rubbed extra hard at a spot on the glass. It had been an easier day having Dr. Stile’s help but she couldn’t afford to get used to it. He wouldn’t be there very long. Regardless of what good help he’d turned out to be, he made her angrier than anyone she’d ever known. She’d have a talk with him tonight and set the ground rules. This was her and Jim’s clinic. She was in charge.

Shelby had stepped outside to wash the other side of the window by the time he’d reached the door. She glanced at him.

“Crusty old bird and a heart attack waiting to happen,” he said, running a hand across his chin dark with stubble.

Suddenly she noticed the shadowy circles under his eyes. He looked tired. “I know. I’ve talked to her until I’m blue in the face. But she just can’t bring herself to give up the carbs.”

Shelby sprayed the window and began making circles with the rag. From the reflection in the glass she could tell the sun was turning pink in the western sky above the rolling hills and lush foliage of summer. She had to hurry or she wouldn’t finish before she could no longer see.

“I’m bushed. I understand you have a place where I can stay,” Taylor said as he pulled the door open.

“Yeah, but I have to finish up here before we leave.”

“Don’t you have a cleaning service?”

“Sure I do. Sometimes Carly, my receptionist, if she doesn’t have a date. Which she almost always has.” She glanced at him. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his head slanted in disbelief.

“Surely you don’t do all the cleaning after seeing patients all day.”

“Dr. Stiles—”

“Taylor. After hours I believe we can call each other by our first names.”

Somehow it seemed petty not to agree. “Taylor, this is a state-supported clinic. And that may not last. Funding’s tight and I have to constantly prove need. I’d rather put every dollar available into patient care.”

Taylor looked through the glass at the room with the water-stained ceiling and mismatched chairs crowded against the wall. Shelby’s voice spoke with pride but all he saw was a sad, needy place that he couldn’t leave soon enough. It represented all that he had gladly left behind. He couldn’t get back to his sparkling state-of-the-art hospital too soon. With a resigned breath he said, “Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” He might as well help if he planned to get some sleep any time soon.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d help.”

“I’ve got it.”

Really, she was such a control freak that she even had to do all the cleaning? “It’ll go twice as fast if I help.”

“You’re right. Stuff’s in the closet in my office.”

Taylor walked down the hall to the office and pulled the bucket full of cleaning materials out of the closet. The plastic pail was the same type his mother had carried when she’d cleaned people’s homes. She had worked six days a week and even that hadn’t always kept him and his two brothers in clothes or put food on the table. His drunken father …

“If you’ll give me that, I’ll do the restroom. I don’t want you to mess up those pretty shoes,” Shelby said.

“Oh, that’s already happened. Little Jack Purdy threw up on them hours ago.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”

“All part of the job. I’ll sweep. Then can we get out of here.”

“Yeah, I’ll come in early and set up the rooms.”

Was there anything she didn’t do?

Thirty minutes later Shelby locked the door behind them and pulled the strap of her satchel over her slim shoulder. “Follow me.”

He backed out of the parking space and was waiting before she’d made it to the ancient black pick-up across the three-row parking lot. He watched as Shelby pulled herself up into the truck. She was a petite woman, but she had a strong backbone to make up for any weakness she might have in other areas. A pit bull had nothing on her.

The whine of Shelby’s starter refusing to co-operate and her hand hitting the steering-wheel told him he needed to offer her a lift. Taylor pulled in front of the truck. “Need a ride?”

She leaned out the open window. “Yeah, much as I hate to admit it.”

“Is that riding with me you hate or that the truck won’t start?”

“Both.” She gave him a dry smile and climbed out of the truck, hefted her bag over her shoulder and came around the car.

He’d had no idea what to expect when the judge had ordered him here. He would’ve never imagined in a million years he’d find someone so smart, stubborn and surprisingly fascinating hiding out in some tiny ‘burb in the middle of nowhere. Why was she here?

Taylor leaned across and unlatched the passenger door. Stretching farther, he pushed the door open. “Give me that.” He pointed to the bag. Shelby handed it to him. “What’ve you got in this?” He put it in the space behind them.

“Charts.” She slid into the low seat.

“You’re taking work home? You’ve already put in, what? A twelve-hour day and now you’re going to do paperwork. Don’t you have a life?”

“The clinic is my life.”

He gave her a long look. “I can see that.”

She narrowed her eyes and said, “By the way, tomorrow please park away from the door. Leave the closer spaces for my patients. Some, like Mrs. Ferguson, can’t walk very far.”

He put up a hand. “Okay. I’ve been adequately rebuked. Which way?”

“Out of the lot and then to the left on the main road. My house isn’t far.”

That figured. She wouldn’t live too far from her precious clinic. The only thing he’d ever been single-mindedly focused on had been getting the heck out of a town just like the one he was in now. Medicine had been the vehicle he’d used to achieve that goal. His lips twisted. Ironically, it had also been the vehicle that had brought him back.

“Turn to the left just past the white two-story house. My house is the third one on the right.”

He pulled into the tree-lined street with perfect houses and immaculate lawns. The neighbors were out in the coolness of the evening. Two couples stood talking to each other while kids played nearby. At another house a man mowed his grass.

“True suburbia,” Taylor murmured.

“Yes, it is and that’s why I bought on this street. I wanted to live where neighbors spoke to each other, helped each other. Where children could play and be safe.”

His stomach clinched. The scene she described was everything he’d ever dreamed of as a kid. Slowly releasing a breath, he pulled his car into the paved drive Shelby indicated. The house was a red-brick ranch style with a two-story detached wooden garage and stairs running along the outside.

“You’ll be staying there.” Shelby pointed at the garage when he turned off the car engine.

“I’m staying here?” If working in the makeshift clinic wasn’t bad enough, staying in this homey neighborhood might kill him. “With you?”

“You’re not staying with me. I rent this out. It just happens I don’t have a tenant right now.”

Things had just got more interesting.

She glanced over her shoulder to the neighbors watching from across the street, then turned to him and grinned. “You’ve already started the neighbors talking. We don’t often see cars like this in Benton.”

“I guess you don’t.” Taylor felt his lips thin. He didn’t like being talked about. He’d spent his youth being the topic of gossip, being made fun of. At least these people weren’t talking about him in relationship to the town drunk.

Her smile had disappeared by the time his gaze met hers. “You know, if you don’t want people to notice you then you might try not living so extravagantly.” She opened the door and climbed out, picking up her satchel.

How had she read him so well? Were his feelings that obvious? He’d spent years learning to hide them. How had this woman he known mere hours been able to see through him?

Taylor stepped out of the car and slammed the door, facing her. “Extravagantly?” His voice rose. “I’ll have you know I work hard for what I have. I can afford this car and I don’t have to justify it to you or anyone else.”

“Little touchy, aren’t you?” she replied with a noticeable effort to keep her voice down.

“Everything okay, Shelby?” a deep voice called.

Taylor glared at the man who had crossed the street to stand at the end of her drive. Small towns never changed. People were always in your business.

She walked a few steps toward the man and waved. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Marshall. I’m just showing Dr. Stiles where he’ll be staying while he’s in town.”

Taylor went to the trunk of the car, popped it and grabbed his suitcase.

“Okay,” Mr. Marshall said. “We’ll see you at the block party, won’t we?”

“Sure. Looking forward to it.”

“Bring the new doctor along if you wish. We’d like to meet him.”

Taylor certainly hoped that she wasn’t planning on him attending any party. The Arctic would become a beach before he’d attend any social function around here. He’d made himself into an arts and opera guy. Benton didn’t even have a movie theater, from what he could tell.

Shelby turned, her gray eyes flashing, her tone tight with control. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again where my neighbors can hear. They worry about me.”

She motioned towards the garage stairs and headed that way. “You’ll not come here and upset them or create fodder for talk at their dinner tables. For some reason I don’t understand, Uncle Gene thinks I’m a halfway house warden for bad-boy trauma doctors.” The last few words were said more to herself than to him.

So, Shelby didn’t like being the talk of the town any more than he did. Maybe they had more in common than he’d given her credit for.

CHAPTER TWO

SHELBY dropped her bag on the bottom step of the stairs that ran alongside the garage.

“Since you don’t want to be a topic of gossip any more than I do,” Taylor said calmly, “maybe you should just agree to disagree about my car.”

With great effort Shelby pushed down the temptation to say something. Having a public argument would certainly give her neighbors and friends a good tale to tell.

“Just what did you do to get on Uncle Gene’s bad side?”

“Uncle Gene?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

“Judge Gene Robbins. He’s my uncle,” she said as she started to climb the stairs.

“So that’s why I’m here.” The words were little more than a mumble, as if he was contemplating the meaning of life. After a moment he commented, “We’ve had a few legal dealings. Nothing special.”

Shelby stopped and looked down at him. What did he mean? Was he an ax murderer? No, her uncle wouldn’t send anyone to work with her who wasn’t a decent person.

Taylor’s look moved slowly up from where his focus had been, on her bottom. Heat filled her cheeks. It had been a long time since a man had noticed her and made his appreciation so obvious. She and Jim had been an item since childhood, leaving little room for another man to show interest. The men in Benton had never approached her in anything other than friendship since Jim had been gone. In truth, she’d not given them a chance. She couldn’t take the chance of losing someone she loved again.

Shelby hurried up the stairs. Taylor was here to help in the clinic and that was all. On the landing she opened the door to the apartment.

“You don’t lock up?”

Turning round, she found Taylor too close for comfort. Standing on the small landing that made her a step higher than he, Shelby was almost at eye level with him.

From there she could see the tiny laugh lines that radiated out from the corners of his eyes. Apparently he wasn’t always the hypercritical person his body language indicated he was. His eyes were brown with small flakes of gold.

The twist of the corner of his mouth brought her attention to his firm, full lips. She blinked.

“Doesn’t your husband tell you to lock the doors?” he asked.

“I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it.

“I am too.” She turned away from the sincerity in his eyes. The sadness that usually accompanied thoughts of Jim was suddenly not as sharp.

Shelby hadn’t missed the look of displeasure on Taylor’s face when he had entered the clinic or when he’d seen the working conditions. She’d also not missed the expression of disgust when he’d realized she drove an old truck. His knuckles had turned white on his steering-wheel when he’d pulled onto her street, as if he didn’t like her neighborhood. Did he think that living here was beneath him? Or was it that she rubbed him the wrong way?

“How does your family feel about you being away from home?” she asked.

“No family.” He made it sound like he liked it that way.

Entering the one-room apartment, Shelby moved to one side to prevent any physical contact. He made her feel nervous and she was never nervous around men. After dropping his bag on the floor, he looked around the place.

Shelby’s gaze followed his. A full bed with her grandmother’s hand-quilted blanket dominated the room. There was a small refrigerator-stove combo in one corner. A two-seater table with chairs sat in front of the double window that looked out onto the back of her house. A braided rug, sofa and chair finished off the living area. A bathroom took up the other corner. She was rather pleased with her decorating efforts. It made a cute place for one person to stay.

“I think you will be comfortable here,” she said with a smile full of pride.

He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead he picked up his bag, carried it to the bed and began unzipping it.

“Not up to your usual standards, I’m sure,” she mumbled.

Taylor pulled clothing out of his bag, his back to her. “You don’t know me well enough to know my standards. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a much-needed shower and go to bed. I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I had to handle an emergency last night. A boy had been hit by a car. I didn’t get out of the hospital until ten this morning and then I had to drive straight here or Uncle Gene would’ve been unhappy.”

So that’s why he’d been late. Why hadn’t she noticed he wasn’t just tired, he was exhausted? As a physician trained to observe the human condition she should’ve known. Had she completely missed it because of her strange reaction to his nearness?

Now she felt small and petty. Why hadn’t he said something? She could’ve given him directions here. The clinic had been running with just her for three years and she could’ve certainly made it through another afternoon. Instead, Taylor had gone to work, never giving the patients or her any indication he was drained. His perfect bedside manner had never faltered. For that, he’d earned her admiration.

Taylor began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Shelby headed for the door but turned back when she reached it. “One more thing about the clinic …” Her gaze went to where his hands worked the buttons open.

“Yeah?”

His shirt parted, revealing a broad chest lightly covered with dark hair. Her gaze rose to meet his. One of his dark brows rose quizzically.

Heaven help her, she’d been caught staring. Shelby drew in a quick breath. “Uh, do you mind keeping your clothes on until I’m gone?”

“Actually, I do. Can’t whatever you have to say wait?”

Was she losing her mind? She didn’t stand around in half-naked strangers’ rooms. Holding her ground, she gave him her best piercing look. “No. I need to make a few things clear before tomorrow.”

“Go ahead. I guess I can’t stop you,” he said as he shrugged out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor.

“Although I appreciate your help today, it needs to be clear to the patients that I’m in charge. I make the decisions. I determine what the patients require. I will not have you changing routines I’ve worked hard to implement. Is that clear?”

“So, to make it short and sweet, you’re the boss.”

Put that way, he made her sound like a shrew. That didn’t sit well. “It’s just that—”

He put up a hand, halting her words. “I’ve got it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some shut-eye.”

Departing, she carried the feeling she’d been the one reprimanded. “The clinic opens at eight sharp,” she said over her shoulder.

“I’ll be there.”

Taylor woke to threads of early morning sunshine through the window. He’d slept well, whether from exhaustion or because this simple room had offered him a good mattress he didn’t know.

Shelby had been right. He didn’t think much of the apartment but on second look it did have a rather homey feel. It was a great deal nicer than what he’d had growing up. To even have a bed to himself would’ve been considered high living.

He glanced at the electric clock on the bedside table. It said seven twenty-eight. The woman would have his hide if he didn’t turn up on time this morning. He couldn’t take a chance that she’d inform her Uncle Gene about his tardiness. More time he couldn’t do.

Ten minutes later, freshly shaven and dressed in khakis, a knit shirt and loafers, he opened the door and almost stepped in the tray sitting on the stoop. There he found a Thermos of coffee, toast and a boiled egg. He smiled. Maybe the caustic doctor was feeling a little guilty about how she’d treated him when he’d been late. Apparently she wasn’t all vinegar.

He checked the time. If he didn’t get a move on she might chew him out again. Grabbing the Thermos and egg, he closed the door behind him and hurried down the stairs. Knocking on the back door of her house, he received no response. She must’ve found a ride to work. If she wasn’t at the clinic when he got there, he’d hunt for her.

As Taylor walked across the parking lot towards the clinic, Shelby came out. “Coming in under the wire, aren’t you, Doctor?” Her voice was full of censure as she worked the key until the deadbolt was drawn into the door to open the office for the day.

“I said I’d be here, and I’m here. And good morning to you too, Doctor. What time did you show up?”

“I’ve been here an hour or so. It usually takes me that long to set up for the day.”

“I knocked to see if you needed a ride.”

“I walked. Bert said he’d have my truck fixed this afternoon.”

Taylor held the door for her to enter ahead of him. “You walked? I would’ve brought you if you’d woken me.”

“You were tired. Walking isn’t a problem. I do it pretty regularly. I’m safe enough and it’s good exercise.”

A couple of people who’d been waiting around outside came in behind them.

“Thanks for the breakfast.” He showed her the egg and Thermos.

“No problem. Those’ll have to wait, though. We’ve patients to see.”

Her no-nonsense statement went along with her functional attire of navy slacks and white V-neck T-shirt that showed a hint of cleavage. Despite her simple attire, it couldn’t hide the shapely curves of her body. Her waist was small enough that a man’s hands could easily slip around it.

She’d pulled her hair back but at the nape it was too short to capture. The only flash of color was a bright neon-pink stethoscope hanging around her neck. Taylor followed her to the desk, where a blonde teenage girl sat, drumming a pencil and chewing gum.

“Carly, this is Dr. Stiles. He’ll be helping us for the next couple of weeks,” Shelby said as she picked up the sign-in clipboard.

Taylor nodded to the girl.

She looked up. He watched her eyes widen. She shifted, then straightened in her chair. “Hey.” She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. He’d never thought of himself as vain, far from it, but he did know when a female appreciated his looks.

“Carly, do you think you could find Ms. Cooper’s file? And get rid of the gum.” Shelby turned to him, “I’ll see Ms. Cooper since this is a check-up.”

Carly didn’t move. He didn’t know why but he wished Shelby would have the same reaction to him that Carly did. Other than that one unguarded moment when he’d been unbuttoning his shirt, she’d acted as if she had no idea he was male. It intrigued and disappointed him. Simple admiration from Shelby would be hard earned.

“I’ll call Dr. Stiles’s patient for him,” Carly said as she dropped her gum into the trash can at her feet and gave him a toothy smile.

“Will I be using exam one?” he asked Shelby.

“That’ll be fine.”

Her words were said so tersely that he glanced at her. What was her problem now?

For the rest of the morning he had little time to ponder what might have upset Shelby. The waiting room stayed full no matter how efficiently he tended to the patients or how simple the cases were.

Where Carly’s reaction to him had been an ego booster earlier in the day, it had become borderline comical by midday. He noticed that she saw to all his patients, showing them to their exam room, asking him if he had everything he needed or if she could get him something to drink. All of it was nice but it was in direct contrast to how Carly treated Shelby. Carly offered her no assistance.

When Taylor asked Carly about that she shrugged in a typical teenage dramatic fashion and said, “Oh, Dr. Wayne likes to do everything herself.”

Of course she does.

By lunchtime Taylor couldn’t help but admit that he’d put in a pretty hard morning. The little clinic was plenty busy. The mundane work sucked him back to another time. Each patient reminded him too much of the people he’d known growing up.

There was the kid with the cough that never disappeared, like Mike Walker’s. He’d been in Taylor’s third-grade class one year but wasn’t there the next. Or others, such as old man Parsons, who’d had no teeth and had chewed tobacco until his gums were diseased. Or Mrs. Roberts, who might’ve been pretty at fifty, but with too many children and a sorry husband had looked like she was seventy.

Taylor would do his time and get back to where he belonged, where memories weren’t darts being thrown at him constantly.

Around noon the egg he’d eaten in bites between patients was gone. He was glad to see that the crowd in the waiting room had dwindled. Maybe they would let him and Shelby have some lunch before every seat was filled again.

“Where do you get a good burger in this town?” Taylor asked as Shelby approached the front desk.

“There’s a burger place on Main,” Carly offered.

“We can all go. I’ll buy,” he offered.

Shelby gave a negative shake of her head. “I have paperwork to do. And someone may come in.” She slipped a chart into the file cabinet.

Really? The woman couldn’t even stop long enough to go out for a quick bite of lunch?

“I want to go. Can we ride in that cool car of yours?”

Taylor wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen riding around town with the very young girl beside him but there was no choice because he had no idea where the burger joint was and he was starving. “Can we bring you back something?” Taylor asked Shelby.

“No, I have a pack of crackers in my desk.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But I bet a burger would be a lot better.” He looked at Carly. “Come on. Show me the way. I guess I should learn my way around town.”

Shelby pulled out the drawer of her desk and reached for the package of crackers but didn’t pick them up. She would’ve been satisfied with them if Taylor hadn’t mentioned a burger.

She popped the top of her diet drink and stared off into space. The sounds of Carly’s high-pitched giggle and Taylor’s deep rumble came from the front. It grew louder as they walked in her direction.

Taylor stopped and let Carly enter Shelby’s office before him. “We decided to go through the drive-in and pick up something. We brought you a burger. Before you argue, I owe you for breakfast and the place to stay.”

Carly’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’re staying at Doc Wayne’s?”

“Yeah.” Taylor pulled one of the spare chairs closer to the desk with his foot.

Carly looked from Taylor to Shelby and back to Taylor.

No telling what the rumor would be if she didn’t clear this up now. “He’s staying in my garage apartment.”

“Oh, I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” Shelby said in a tight voice.

Already this man was disrupting her life. Carly would have that information spread far and wide by the end of the day.

Maybe Uncle Gene could have sent her someone else less … She couldn’t think of the word. Intrusive? Disruptive? Attractive?

Taylor sat down in one of the two folding chairs that suddenly appeared child-size beneath his large body and started digging through the paper bag in his hand. He acted as if he took his meals in a tiny, shabby office every day. It didn’t take long for Taylor to act like he belonged. Carly took the other chair and he handed her a burger wrapped in paper before his hand slipped into the bag again. Pulling out another burger, he offered it to Shelby.

When she hesitated he said, “Take it. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”

Shelby wished that wasn’t the truth. She reached for the offered package. By the time she’d eaten a couple of bites of hers Taylor had already finished his first burger and was searching the bag for another.

The tinkle of the bell hanging on the door sounded.

“Doc Wayne! Doc Wayne!”

The urgent cry made Shelby stand and head towards the door. Taylor had hurried out and was moving up the hall by the time she stepped from the office.

The metallic smell of blood reached her nose before she saw the bright red drops on the floor. It seeped through the rag wrapped around Mr. Hardy’s arm. Shelby’s stomach rolled like a boat on a stormy sea, making her wish she hadn’t eaten.

She mentally braced herself. She could do this.

“Sir,” Taylor said, “I’m Dr. Stiles. Come back to the exam room and we’ll see what we’ve got here.”

For once Shelby was glad to have Taylor take over. When the injured man, in his mid-fifties, gave her a questioning look she said, “He’s a trauma doctor. You’re in good hands.”

Shelby believed those words. Was it because of the way Taylor led with confidence or because of the quality of care she’d seen him provide? Either way, it kept her from having to deal with the blood.

“Carly,” she called, “get out a suture kit in exam one. Now.” She turned to the pale-faced woman left standing in the waiting room. Shelby took her arm and led her to a chair.

“Wait here, Mrs. Hardy. We’ll let you see him as soon as we can.”

Shelby headed toward the exam room. “Carly, get Mrs. Hardy a drink and sit with her. She looks a little shaken,” Shelby said as she passed the girl in the hall.

In the examination room, Taylor gingerly unwrapped the rag from around the man’s arm. Stepping to the table, she asked, “Mr. Hardy, what did you do to yourself?”

“I was cutting a limb off a tree that’d been damaged during the storm last week. Darn chainsaw kicked back and got me.”

Shelby took a fortifying breath as Taylor revealed the gnarled flesh on Mr. Hardy’s forearm. She’d never been a fan of blood to start with but after seeing so much of Jim’s pouring from his body, her aversion to it had become worse. Red liquid continued to slowly drip onto the white cloth covering the table. “Looks like it got you three times before it let go,” Taylor remarked as he examined the man’s arm. “I don’t see any bone damage.”

“Do you mind if I have a look?” Shelby asked, stepping forward. Cases like these were her least favorite but she’d learned to deal with them because she was usually the only doctor available. She wouldn’t let this know-it-all doctor make her look weak in front of a patient who would be hers long after he’d gone home.

Taylor shifted to the right so she could have a better view. Shelby gently rotated the arm. “Does that hurt?” Her stomach chose that moment to make a Waikiki surfing wave. She hoped her face didn’t give away to Mr. Hardy and Taylor how awful she felt.

“No,” the middle-aged man said.

She gently eased the man’s arm down on the table. Her hands trembled and she tightened her jaw, willing her throat not to spasm. If she focused on what she was doing, she could get through it. She had before and she would again. “Well, I don’t see any damage past the skin, which is good news. We just need to get you stitched up.”

Something made her look at Taylor. He was studying her too closely for her comfort. Seconds later a look of realization entered his dark expressive eyes then surprise.

“Dr. Wayne,” he said, his tone all business, “do you mind if I do the suturing? It’s my expertise and I don’t see many chainsaw injuries where I’m from.”

A sense of relief washed over her. She looked at Mr. Hardy questioningly.

“I don’t mind. Just need to get it done. My wife’s already mad ‘cos I got blood all over her freshly mopped kitchen floor.”

The bell on the door sounded and Carly spoke to someone. “If you have this,” Shelby said to Taylor, “I’ll go see this other patient.”

Taylor glanced up at Mr. Hardy, “We’re good here?”

The man nodded agreement. Shelby left as Taylor untaped the suture kit.

Over an hour later Shelby stood beside the front desk ready to call her next patient. She watched as Taylor saw Mr. and Mrs. Hardy out with instructions to return in a couple of days.

Taylor approached the desk and stepped close enough she could smell the soap on his skin that she’d placed in his bath. “We need to talk.”

A shiver ran up her spine. “Is something wrong with Mr. Hardy?”

“Your office,” he said in a low voice.

“You don’t order me around.”

“Do you really want to broadcast our discussion to the entire county?” He turned his back to the handful of people in the waiting room. “I don’t think you want people to know their doctor’s little secret.”

Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to let what he’d learned pass without comment. She entered the office ahead of him. He came in and closed the door.

“What’ve you got to say that can’t wait until after our patients are gone?” she demanded.

Taylor leaned causally against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and one foot over the other, a slight grin on his lips. “Interesting, a doctor who can’t stand the sight of blood,” he stated in complete amazement.

“I’m a general practitioner. I don’t have to deal with blood to do my job well,” she huffed.

“I guess you don’t. But you must’ve had a devil of a time getting through emergency rotation in med school.”

She looked him directly in the eyes. “I worked through it.”

“Yeah, I could see how well you’re working through it in there with Mr. Hardy.” He had to admire her fortitude. She looked as if she was determined to do what had to be done, even at a cost to herself.

“You won’t tell, will you?”

He wished he could tease her and make her think that he would but her wide-eyed, pleading look softened his heart. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“You know, I would’ve stitched up Mr. Hardy if you hadn’t been here. Wouldn’t have enjoyed it but I would’ve gotten it done. Patients with major injuries don’t normally come to the clinic. His wife refusing to drive outside Benton is the only reason they stopped here. Otherwise they would’ve gone straight to Nashville or Jackson.”

“Either one of those places is around a hundred miles away.”

“I know. Mr. Hardy could’ve gone into shock before he got there.”

Shelby gave him a grateful look that made him feel heroic. “I appreciate your help.”

The frustration she felt over her weakness shone in her large gray eyes. The desire to take her in his arms and reassure her that she wasn’t failing her patients flooded him. Taylor resisted the urge. Shelby wouldn’t appreciate him noting her flaw any more than he’d already had. He shrugged. “I’m glad I was here too. The old man required a number of stitches.”

Taylor had actually found Mr. Hardy’s case interesting. Chainsaw accidents weren’t common inside a metropolitan area. To his surprise, he’d enjoyed talking to the tell-it-like-it-is man. Straightening, Taylor prepared to open the door. “I did some of my finest work. He’ll have scars but nothing as extensive as they could’ve been.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for you and Mr. Hardy,” Shelby said in a mocking tone.

She made it sound as if Taylor had caused the accident so he could show off his skills. At least that sad expression had left her eyes. He ignored her remark and asked, “So what’s the plan when I’m gone?”

“The plan is to go on as I have been and look for a doctor who’s trained in emergency medicine. Someone willing to work here at least part time.”

“Well, it won’t be me. I’m going to do what’s required. Then I’m gone. Don’t be getting any ideas.”

“I don’t have any ideas about you one way or another. Uncle Gene said he was sending me some help for a couple of weeks. The minute I met you I knew you wouldn’t be staying long.”

He didn’t understand why that remark annoyed him. He didn’t like her thinking she knew him that well. “Why?”

“Well, let’s see,” she said with a sassy bob to her head, “car, clothes, attitude. All are a dead giveaway.”

He’d covered his past well. Had worked hard at it. Taylor stepped closer, stopping just outside her personal space. Her eyes shifted with apprehension. He made her nervous and he liked it.

Leaning down to her eye level, he said, “You of all people should know that appearances aren’t always how things are.” He paused. “For example, a doctor who hates the sight of blood.”

A knock on the door punctuated his statement.

“It’s standing room only out here,” Carly called.

“Maybe you’d better go do what you have to do,” Shelby said in an ice-cold voice as she moved past him to hold open the door.

Taylor spent Wednesday morning seeing patients, only able to snatch a quick lunch before the afternoon influx of people into the waiting room. Despite working in a small-town clinic, he was still keeping large trauma center hours. It amazed him that Shelby had managed to hold it together without help for so long. She had to be mentally and physically exhausted. The clinic was definitely a two-person setup, and three would be better.

Late that afternoon, Taylor trailed behind his latest patient as he left. Going to the front to call his next one, he was pleasantly surprised to find that there was no one else needing attention. Shelby was busy giving Carly directions and shifting through papers at the same time. The picture had become so commonplace it seemed like he’d been working at the Benton Clinic for ever. It amazed him that he didn’t feel more like an outsider.

He and Shelby had only spoken a few words to each other the entire day. For some reason, he’d missed their sparring. If nothing else it brought a little spark to the backwater town, something to challenge his mind.

The bell on the door rang. The peace hadn’t lasted long enough for him to even say something that would aggravate Shelby. A girl of around sixteen with large, gloomy eyes and long blonde hair entered looking as if she’d like to turn and run. She wore a simple dress covering too much of her body for the warm day. The girl hesitated as the door closed behind her.

Shelby must have realized that the three of them looking at the girl was intimidating because she stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Dr. Wayne. Can I help you?”

The girl nodded but didn’t make eye contact.

“Come this way.” Shelby led the teen down the hall.

Ten minutes later Taylor entered the small lab area to find Shelby facing the counter, gripping it so hard the veins on the top of her hands stood out. She kept her head down.

He closed the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low and stepping closer. “What’s happened?” He didn’t try to keep his concern out of his voice.

Shelby’s actions seemed out of character. Even when blood had been an issue she’d hung tough, but now …

“Nothing.” Her tone said differently.

“Something’s obviously wrong. Let me help.”

She turned so quickly that she caught him off guard. Her eyes glistened and her face was drawn with misery. “Really? You think you can help,” she muttered. “I have an unwed pregnant teen in there …” she gestured toward the door across the hall “… who’s terrified to talk to her parents. When she does find the courage to tell her family about the baby she also has to explain to them that she has a venereal disease. So just how can you help with this?”

Her bold stare said he couldn’t fix this no matter what he did. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

“I can’t help her but I can help you.” He gathered Shelby into his arms. What was he doing? Nurses, other female doctors had been upset in his presence and he’d never hugged them. Something about Shelby made him want to comfort her, help her with her problems. Be there for her. He winced. That was something he couldn’t do. How had he become so involved in her life so quickly?

She resisted, remaining rigid against him. “Please let me go.”

It pricked his ego that she wouldn’t consent to his comfort, but he schooled his face not to show a reaction. He did as she asked and stepped back, missing the contact immediately. “Would you like me to talk to the girl?”

Shelby shook her head. “No, that’s my job. She’s scared enough without me sending a man in to discuss this. She lives in the county above us and wanted to go where she wouldn’t be recognized. Someone told her that there was a female doctor here.”

“In this day and age she’s hiding? Afraid to tell her parents? The teenage girls I know are proud to be unwed and pregnant.”

“You have to remember that there’re still strong moral standards in this area. Everyone knows everyone. Has an opinion about everything.”

Taylor was well aware of how those concepts worked.

Shelby continued, “Her parents, she says, aren’t going to be happy or accepting.” She moved past him. “I’d better go give her the news.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and her gaze met his. “Shelby, I wish I could do more than say I’m sorry.”

She gave him a weak smile. “I am too,” she said, before squaring her shoulders and knocking on the door to the exam room across the hall.

Her heart was too big for her own good. For once, Taylor thought that Uncle Gene sentencing him to the clinic had been a good thing. It had allowed him to be there for Shelby today.

The girl left the clinic thirty minutes later with a gentle pat on the shoulder from Shelby and the reassurance that she’d be there if the girl needed her. Shelby said not a word as she passed him. She entered her office and effectively closed everyone out.

After preparing the clinic for the next day, Taylor knocked lightly on the office door. “You ready to close up?”

“You go on. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She needed space and wouldn’t appreciate him insisting she leave. He really shouldn’t care. All doctors ran into cases that got under their skin. The problem was that Shelby cared too deeply. For the girl. For her all her patients.

Who took care of her?

Hours later, Taylor rolled over in bed and looked at the bedside clock for the umpteenth time. It was well past midnight.

Where was she?

With a sense of relief that amazed him he saw Shelby’s headlights flash across the wall of the apartment as she pulled into the drive.

She worked far too hard, felt too much. The clinic, for all he could see, was her life. She took no down time. In his opinion it wasn’t healthy. She needed to slow down or she’d be the one needing a doctor. He knew of few doctors who worked harder than Shelby.

He didn’t want to care. No matter what happened he refused to get involved but with every day he stayed in Benton it made it more difficult to keep his distance. First it had been Mrs. Ferguson, then Mr. Hardy and now he was stressing about a workaholic tyrant of a doctor who lived in a one-red-light town. Heck, he didn’t really know how to care. He’d certainly not gotten an example of how that worked from his family. Could he have picked a more foreign emotion?

The way Shelby’s big gray eyes looked stormy when she was mad and turned soft and sad when she worried over a patient pulled at him. Even her sharp tongue didn’t squelch his anxiety for the turbocharged woman.

Reassured Shelby was safely home, Taylor rolled over and punched his pillow, knowing he could now find sleep. He’d no idea why it mattered to him what she did. Shelby had been fine before he’d arrived and she’d be fine after he left.

But who would be there for her when she needed a shoulder to lean on next time?

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