She seemed intelligent, kind…attractive.

Connor met Gillian’s gaze and forgot everything but the color of her eyes. She put her hand on his arm. Warm, small, delicate…her touch stirred something deep inside. “Have dinner with me,” he said. “Please.”

She hesitated. He knew she was going to say no. But that wouldn’t do. And not because of his sentence. Because he didn’t want the feel of her hand on his arm to go away. “Please,” he said again.

She nodded. A tiny move.

He reached out with his hand and brushed her cheek. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined. Softer.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

She blushed and then took her hand from his arm. She opened her mouth, and he could see in her eyes that she was going to change her mind.

There was only one thing to do. He kissed her.

Dear Reader,

The lazy days of summer are here, and Harlequin American Romance has four charming new stories for your enjoyment! Whether you’re relaxing on the beach, out on a picnic or just grabbing a few moments of special time for yourself, we hope our books will brighten your days.

Harlequin American Romance has the pleasure of launching the brand-new continuity series MAITLAND MATERNITY with Tina Leonard’s Surprise! Surprise!, a doubly precious tale of twins who bring their parents back together. Look for Jacqueline Diamond’s I Do! I Do! next month, followed by twelve brand-new MAITLAND MATERNITY stories, coming from Harlequin Books!

Summer is a popular time for gettin’ hitched, as the BACHELORS OF SHOTGUN RIDGE are about to find out! Mindy Neff’s exciting new miniseries begins with sexy bachelor Wyatt Malone’s story, The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride. Don’t miss Ethan and Stony’s stories, coming in July and August!

Dr. Gail Roberts has a very special little gift for Brian Walker in Linda Randall Wisdom’s My Little One, the continuation of our wonderful WITH CHILD…promotion. And Jo Leigh tells the story of a doctor who gets waylaid in a small Texas town and finds love when he least expects it. Doctor, Darling will steal your heart!

Our best wishes for a summer filled with warmth and romance. Happy reading!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Doctor, Darling

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Leigh currently lives just outside Las Vegas, Nevada, where she still can’t get used to the slot machines in the grocery stores. Storytelling has always been a part of her life, whether as a producer in Hollywood, a screenwriter or a novelist. It probably began when she told her third-grade teacher that elephants ate her homework.

Books by Jo Leigh

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

695—QUICK, FIND A RING!

731—HUSBAND 101

736—DADDY 101

749—IF WISHES WERE…DADDIES

768—CAN’T RESIST A COWBOY

832—DOCTOR, DARLING

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

568—LITTLE GIRL FOUND

Contents

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

Chapter One

Conner Malloy stood in front of the Eat ’N Greet diner, in the middle of the quaint little town. He knew it was the middle because he could see where the town ended and the highway began, both ways. If a thousand people lived in Miller’s Landing, Texas, he’d be surprised. It was six hours from Houston, his home, and miles from any serious traffic. But it did have an antique store.

He’d found the store on the Internet when he’d searched for medical antiques. After e-mailing the proprietor for a couple of weeks, Conner had realized he needed to see the goods in person. If the stuff was on the level, it meant he’d finally be able to illustrate his book with accurate pictures instead of drawings that might or might not have been to scale.

He knew the antique store was on Main Street. Right next door to the Sew ’N Sew fabric store and across from Lulu’s Dresses.

It was exciting, he had to admit. Although he wasn’t a writer by trade, he’d been fascinated by old medical techniques and implements ever since his first year of residency. The hobby had become a passion over the years, so he didn’t think it was odd to take his vacation in this little Podunk town despite what Hugh said. Or any of the other attending physicians at Texas Children’s Hospital. They just didn’t understand, that’s all. When the book got published, they’d change their tune.

A woman in a denim dress stepped out of the coffee shop and stood stock-still when she saw him. She stared at him oddly, as if she’d just seen his face on America’s Most Wanted. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. Friendly little town.

There it was. Odds ’N Ends. And right smack-dab in the middle of the display window was a real jewel. A rib spreader, circa early 1800s. In terrific condition. Conner’s gaze stayed on the surgical antique as he pushed open the door. Well, tried to. It was locked.

Then he saw the little sign. Closed For Eleanor’s Birthday. Conner had no idea who Eleanor was, but already he didn’t care for her. Six hours on the road, a lousy meal at a truck stop on the way, and the place was closed for Eleanor’s birthday. Great.

For a moment, he contemplated getting back in his car and heading for home, but then he looked at the rib spreader again. What else might Mr. Johnson have inside?

Conner looked at his watch. It was almost four. He was hungry, tired and cranky, and a shower would be mighty welcome. He’d passed a motel. The Set ’N Stay. What was it about the word and these people hated?

He quickly crossed the street and headed for the motel. The woman in the denim dress had moved, and now she stood in the shade of the fabric store. He nodded again, and she stared again. Weird. Then, as he passed the hardware store, another woman stepped to the doorway. She, too, gawked at him, unsmiling. He didn’t bother nodding to her.

When it happened again at the Laundromat, he got the willies. Another woman, this one with lacquered silver hair and little pursed mouth, lifted her head to peer at him through the bottom of her bifocals.

“Afternoon,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling that Stephen King might be lurking behind a washing machine.

“Afternoon,” she said back, her voice as stiff as her bouffant hairdo.

Conner kept right on going. At least one person stood in each doorway. At the diner, there was a record four. A woman and three children. The little boy wore an X-Files T-shirt. That explained it. Maybe he should just forget it. Get in his car and go. No. He needed those antiques.

He walked faster. It wasn’t until he’d reached the front of the motel that he realized he’d been humming “Strange Days” by the Doors. “Amen, brother,” Conner said as he stepped into the front office.

GILLIAN BATES put the key in the lock of her classroom as she tried to remember if she’d defrosted the chicken for tonight’s supper. So when she turned and Felicia Goodwin was right there, Gillian gasped.

“Did you hear?” Felicia asked, not even apologizing for scaring Gillian half to death.

“Hear what?”

“That doctor Axel was talking about. He’s here.”

“What doctor?”

“You know. The one who’s all hot and bothered about that old medical crap Axel keeps in his store.”

“Oh, that doctor,” Gillian said, not having a clue what Felicia was going on about. She started down the hallway of the only school in Miller’s Landing. All the kids had gone except for Janice’s music class. Gillian heard the cry of an ill elephant emanating from the cafeteria and knew that Cory Tracy was practicing his tuba.

“Yes, that doctor,” Felicia said. “Only he’s not what we thought.”

“No?”

“No. He’s young. And he’s damn good-looking.”

“Really?” Gillian knew what was coming. It was as if a single woman—a single mother—was anathema to the whole town. She’d been living in Miller’s Landing for four and a half years, and not a week had gone by when someone didn’t bring up her marital status. She used to get upset about it. Now, she ignored it.

“I saw him myself,” Felicia went on. “I was just coming out of Lulu’s. She’s got some new dresses in, and some of them are just awful, but I did see one or two that would look good on you.”

They reached the exit, and Gillian pushed open the door, letting Felicia go out first.

“He walked right by me.” Felicia reached into the pocket of her denim dress and brought out a crinkled pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Did he?” Gillian asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. Or at least not deathly bored. But her mind wasn’t on the conversation with her neighbor. She was looking for Eli, who had gone to the playground after class to wait for her. She led Felicia, who paused twice while she tried to light her awful cigarette, to the back of the school. As soon as Gillian saw Eli on the swings, she smiled. He was having a grand time, swinging as high as his little legs would push him. The sight of him made everything in her world perfect.

“He’s a tall young man,” Felicia said. “Well over six feet if you ask me. Taller than Bradley, that’s for sure, and Bradley’s just a hair under six feet himself.”

Gillian tried not to laugh. Bradley, Felicia’s oldest, was maybe five foot six, at least when he had his boots on.

“And he’s got dark hair. Nice and thick. I tell you, he’s a looker.”

“That’s fascinating, Felicia. But I’m sure the nice doctor has a nice wife living in his nice home somewhere far away from here.”

“Houston. He’s from Houston. And we don’t know if he has a wife or not.”

“If he’s that good-looking, I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”

That made Felicia think. She came to a halt, inhaled a lungful of smoke, then let the smoke out slowly, obscuring the puzzled look on her face for a moment.

“Mom!”

“Hey, cute stuff!”

Eli flew off the swing at the very top of the arc, and Gillian’s heart stopped until she saw him land safely.

“I told you not to do that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Jump off the swing.”

“Oh, Mom. Everybody does it.”

“I don’t care about everybody. You do it again, and you don’t get to use the swing.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. But his torment was short-lived. A second later, he gave her a beguiling smile. “Can we go to McDonald’s for dinner?”

“No, we cannot. I have a chicken defrosted.”

He gave her a look she found adorable but one she really shouldn’t encourage. His little face scrunched all up, and one lip curled on the side. She could eat him with a spoon.

“Afternoon, Eli,” Felicia said.

“Afternoon, Ms. Felicia.”

Gillian took Eli’s hand and headed for the parking lot. Felicia followed.

“I hear he’s staying the night at the motel.”

“That’s nice,” Gillian said. “Esther can use the income.”

“But he’ll have to eat, you know.”

“I would imagine.”

“So what I’m saying is why don’t you come eat at the diner, too?”

Gillian sighed. “Felicia, you’re a wonderful neighbor and you make the best bundt cake in the history of the world, but if you don’t stop trying to marry me off to strangers, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

Felicia laughed. “I can’t help it, Gillian. It goes against my nature to see a woman as pretty as you go it alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have Eli.”

“And he’s a mighty fine boy. But a woman has needs…”

They reached her Toyota, and Eli sprinted to the passenger door. “I don’t want to talk about my needs,” Gillian said. “Especially when I’m with my mighty fine boy.”

Felicia frowned. She actually was an attractive woman. At fifty-seven, she could pass for forty, and when she dressed up, which rarely happened, she could look like a belle of thirty-five. “Well, you do what you think best,” she said. “But I’m going to eat at the Greet. And so is Elizabeth.”

Gillian opened her door. “Say hello for me.”

“Sure you won’t come?”

Gillian got into the car and shut the door. Leaning out the open window, she gave Felicia a smile and a wave. “See you later.”

“If Aunt Elizabeth is eating out, why can’t we?” Eli asked.

“Because I have a chicken defrosted.”

Eli kicked the dashboard with his sneaker. “I don’t even like chicken.”

“Well then, you can just eat the green beans.”

He scrunched his face up again. Gillian smiled.

CONNER DIALED his home number to get his messages. After he punched in his code, he looked around his room. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it wasn’t bad. The king-size bed seemed firm, the linens clean. And the TV carried several cable channels.

No messages. He hung up the phone, then got the room key from the nightstand. He was so hungry even the prospect of eating at the Eat ’N Greet was getting him all excited. Actually, he shouldn’t be so prejudiced. Sometimes small-town diners had the best food. Why not this place?

He got a paperback out of his overnight bag, then left the ground-floor room, locking it behind him. The air had cooled slightly since he’d checked in. It would be a lovely night. March could be ungodly hot in Texas, so this was a treat. In fact, he was glad he needed to walk to the diner. He wanted to see if the people in the doorways were still there.

He got to Main Street and turned left. The trees cast long shadows on the uneven sidewalk, and he could see his reflection clearly in the windows, which wasn’t what he’d been after. He’d wanted to check out the little stores, see how the town displayed itself. But it was too nice out to be displeased for long. This was his vacation after all.

His much needed vacation. The hospital had been particularly busy in the past few months, and while he had interns and residents to take up some of the slack, he’d felt as though he’d been living in the hospital instead of his apartment. He’d eaten too much cafeteria food, slept on too many call-room cots and had too many nights of interrupted sleep. Tonight, he’d go to bed early and sleep forever. Well, at least until noon.

He passed the bakery door and surprised the young woman locking up. She jumped as if he’d been a ghost, then gave him a sort of smile. He nodded and smiled in return but picked up his pace. What an odd town. In fact, he could feel the woman watching him. That uncomfortable, vulnerable sense that a bull’s-eye was painted on his back stayed with him as he passed a doctor’s office. Finally, he couldn’t help himself; he had to look back.

Sure enough, the bakery woman was staring at him while she talked into a cellular phone. At least she had the decency to turn when he caught her.

It didn’t matter, though. There was the Eat ’N Greet. Maybe he’d have some chicken-fried steak. It was an indulgence he rarely gave in to, but tonight, he felt like walking on the wild side.

There was his Land Rover. He’d drive it to the motel after dinner and park it in the small lot out back, which was better than leaving it on the main drag.

He reached the entrance of the diner and saw two signs, one that told him he’d better be wearing a shirt and shoes if he wanted service, and the other advertising free kittens, call Pop Burns for details. When was the last time he’d seen free kittens advertised on a restaurant door?

He pushed on through but stopped immediately. The place was packed. Every table, except one, was occupied by at least two people. All the booths were filled, and even the long counter had no vacancies. His gaze went back to the empty table. It was right in the middle of the diner. Where everyone could get a nice eyeful if they wanted. And given the fact that every person in the place was staring at him, he’d wager they did.

A woman, he wasn’t sure who, cleared her throat. As if on cue, everyone turned away at the same time. Two seconds later, they started talking. Five seconds later, both waitresses picked up plates of food from the kitchen and headed toward the booths.

Weird. Very weird. He didn’t think anyone was going to seat him, so he made his way to the empty table. As soon as he sat down, one of the waitresses—Juanita, according to the name embroidered on the pink uniform—gave him a menu and the first really welcoming smile he’d seen in Miller’s Landing. He smiled back, deciding right then to leave an obscenely large tip.

“How y’all doing?” Juanita asked, her Texas twang pronounced.

“Fine, thanks.”

“We’ve got some meat loaf on special tonight. And some fried chicken.”

“How about chicken-fried steak?”

“You got it.”

“And a beer?”

She nodded. “We got Miller on tap.”

“Perfect.”

She smiled again and headed off for the kitchen. Conner took the opportunity to open his book. But it was damn hard to read when he felt like the main attraction at a carnival. He kept having to reread whole passages. But he didn’t give up. Even when Juanita brought him his dinner, he kept on reading. He stopped briefly to cut up his food—the best chicken-fried steak he’d had in his life—but then went right back to Michael Crichton’s latest.

Some kid bumped his table on his way out, and then Juanita told him they had homemade cherry cobbler, which he ordered. Other than that, things seemed to settle down. Maybe the novelty of a stranger in town was wearing off. He sure hoped so.

By the time he’d finished his coffee and cobbler and paid the bill, he felt almost kindly toward Miller’s Landing. So what if people stared? His dinner had made up for that in spades. He’d come here again tomorrow. He wanted to try the peach cobbler.

He left Juanita five bucks, then headed out. He heard the sound of chairs scraping, of bodies rising from the fake leather seats in the booths. Was everyone going to leave with him? Maybe walk him to his car? Then the woman cleared her throat again, and everyone paused. Conner hurried out the door.

When he got outside, he saw a local sheriff talking to the woman from the bakery. They were at the far edge of the Eat ’N Greet, leaning against the window. On the other side of the building, also leaning against the window, was the woman in the denim dress. She was smoking a cigarette.

He shook his head as he went to his car door. Just as he unlocked it, his gaze went to his windshield. To the hole in the middle of the glass. Perfectly round, the size of a BB, with a corona of broken glass around it. “Dammit to hell,” he said, cursing whoever had aimed the BB gun, the diner, the whole weird town. Where was he going to get that fixed out here?

Just as he was getting into his wounded vehicle, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find the sheriff standing next to his car. Good. Maybe he’d help find the cretinous little vandals.

“Officer…” he began. But he didn’t go on. The look the cop was giving him wasn’t terribly benevolent.

“Excuse me, sir, but what do you see over there?”

Conner looked back at the diner, where the cop was pointing. Standing in the doorway were three kids and a woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Two girls and a boy, none of them over eight. “I see a family,” Conner answered, not at all sure what the hell was going on.

“A family. That’s right. A woman and her children.”

Conner frowned at the cop, wondering if he was being filmed in some practical joke. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know what they let you get away with in Houston, but in this town, we don’t dishonor our women or expose our youngsters to things they oughtn’t to hear.”

“Pardon me?”

“In this town, it’s against the law to curse in front of women and children, sir. And I’m placing you under arrest.”

Conner laughed. But the laughter died when he watched the sheriff, who looked suspiciously like Rod Steiger, pull out his handcuffs. “Are you kidding?”

“I don’t kid when it comes to women and children. This is a decent town, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“But I only said—”

The cop stopped him with an upraised hand. “Don’t dig the well any deeper, son. Just come along with me.”

Conner felt the sheriff lift his arm. He felt the cold steel of the handcuff snap around his wrist. He kept waiting to hear the Twilight Zone theme, but it didn’t come. Not on the drive down the street. Not when he was helped out of the patrol car. Not even when the sheriff locked him behind bars.

When the sheriff had gone, leaving Conner completely alone in his cell, he remembered that he’d left his book in his Land Rover. Great. Just great.

Chapter Two

Gillian had forgotten to defrost the chicken. She sighed as she stared at the inside of her fridge, waiting for some wonderful delicacy to leap out from behind the carton of nonfat milk. Instead, the little light in the back decided to burn out. Poof. It was dark, the surprise treat failed to materialize, and she had nothing for dinner.

She closed the fridge and leaned her head against the cool white door. A good mother would have remembered to take the chicken out. A good mother wouldn’t dream of taking her growing son out for fast food again. Even a halfway decent mother could probably find something in the pantry that was nutritious and tasty. But the truth was she wouldn’t be getting any awards for mothering tonight. Because it was going to be fast food or pizza. She’d love the convenience of having the pizza delivered, but Eli would want the golden arches. Who was she to argue?

She pushed herself away from the fridge and picked up her purse. “Eli!”

“What?” a little voice called from upstairs.

“Come down here.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Okay.”

“Now.”

“Okay.”

Did she have cash? She opened her purse and found her wallet. In it, she found two credit cards, three twenty-cent stamps, a coupon for bug spray and a very crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to go to the bank, too. All she wanted was a nice, long bath. Scented with lavender. Candles flickering on the sink and around the tub. Soft music, Debussy maybe, playing in the background. It wasn’t that much to ask for, was it?

The sound of an elephant clomping down the stairs made her turn. How a four-and-a-half-year-old could make that much noise all by himself astounded her. She could see why he’d been upstairs—the call of his Game Boy had been too much for him. So, rather than just turn the electronic demon off, he’d brought it with him. She heard little pings and splats as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

“Well,” she said, “if you’re not interested in going to McDonald’s…”

His head jerked up, making his way-too-long hair fly wildly. “Really?”

She nodded.

He flung the expensive toy past her to the couch, where it ricocheted off the arm and landed on the carpet. But how could she scold him when he tackled her with a king-size hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

He sounded as if she’d just pardoned him from five years hard labor instead of providing him with a Happy Meal. “You’re welcome, Eli.”

She bent down and kissed his head, then he took her hand and pulled her to the front door and, after she’d locked up, to the car. The whole time he chanted the magic fast-food song. She wasn’t sure of all the words, but special sauce, lettuce, pickles and buns were all in there somewhere.

They headed out of their little subdivision, which really only consisted of four houses, toward Main Street. She hadn’t finished her lesson plan for tomorrow. Eli needed a bath. Then there was laundry, of course. And she had to remember to take the chicken out of the…

She slowed the car, her heartbeat accelerating as she finished the turn onto the major thoroughfare of the little town. A crowd had gathered outside the police station. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been arrested, let alone drawn a crowd. She saw her aunt Elizabeth in the middle of things. And there was Axel Johnson, Felicia, Carol from the bakery. What on earth could have happened?

“Hi, Aunt Elizabeth!”

Gillian saw that Eli had unbuckled his seat belt so he could lean out the window and shout. “Get down,” she said. “And buckle up.”

“But it’s a party!”

“It’s not a party.”

“Then why’s everybody there?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure it has nothing to do with us.”

“Can’t we find out?”

“No, we can’t.” She drove past the police building slowly, determined not to get involved. Bradley Goodwin spotted her and pointed, but instead of waving her to a stop, the whole crowd surged inside the building, practically trampling one another in their haste. Before she got to the stop sign, the entire street had emptied.

“Where’d everybody go?” Eli asked.

“I have no idea,” she said. “That was certainly odd.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I get a large fries?”

She smiled. “Not a chance.”

Eli sighed. It was such a tough life. The poor kid. Deprivation at every turn.

She rounded the next corner, then pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Eli was out of the car and halfway to the door before she’d finished locking up. All that energy. All that enthusiasm. It made her feel 128 years old. She really must find the time to exercise.

Yeah, right.

CONNER COULDN’T believe it. He was actually in jail. For saying damn. A whole bunch of better curses had been swirling through his head, and it was everything he could do not to direct them at the sheriff. He figured it must be a scam, like a speed trap. Extortion. Plain, ugly extortion.

He had a phone call coming and he had an attorney who would have a thing or two to say about this. Conner didn’t care if they had to take it to the Supreme Court. He was going to fight this and win.

He heard a lot of people talking in the other room, but he was alone in his cell. Just him and two cots. And all those bars. He had a sudden urge to play the harmonica.

The noise from the other room increased, but no matter how he twisted and turned, he couldn’t see a damn thing. So he went to the cot on his left. Hmm. It was better than he’d expected. Firmer. A real bed, not straw matting.

He never should have come out here. He should have listened when his instincts told him to go home. But no. He had to stay for his precious antiques. Who the hell cared about antique medical equipment anyway?

The outside door opened and Conner leaped to his feet. It was the cop. The son of a—

“I brought you something to read,” he said.

“Something to read? What about my phone call? What about my rights?”

“Now don’t get yourself all worked up,” the sheriff said. “You’ll get your phone call soon enough. In the meantime, I figured you might want something to do.” He held up a small stack of paperback books.

Conner felt a headache coming on. A doozy. He put his hands to his temples and rubbed, but it was no use. “Can you give me some aspirin?” he asked.

“Got a headache, eh?” The cop slipped the books between the bars.

“Yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He left, closing the outside door after him. No phone call. No explanations. Just old Zane Grey Westerns and Stephen King horror novels. He could write his own horror novel. He’d call it Trapped in Miller’s Landing. It would scare the bejeezus out of city dwellers everywhere.

He went back to the cot and put the books next to him. He didn’t feel like reading. Even if he had, he’d want his own book. The one sitting on the front seat of his car. What he did feel like doing was committing real crimes. Crimes that made sense. Like strangling a certain small-town sheriff. He went back to rubbing his temples, but that proved useless after a while. There wasn’t enough room to do any real pacing, so he stretched out, putting his arm over his eyes. He’d never sleep, but at least he could rest.

“DOC. HEY, DOC.”

Conner awoke with a start. He didn’t know where he was for a moment, and then he remembered.

“Doc, you awake?”

As he sat up, he realized the headache had hit full force. The pain in his temples throbbed along with his pulse. “Yes, I’m awake.”

“I’ve brought you some aspirin,” the sheriff said. “And a phone.”

“It’s about time,” Conner said. The sheriff opened the door, and Conner got up. “What’s your name?”

“Tracy,” he said, handing Conner two pills and a glass of water.

Conner looked at the man as he swallowed. He’d taken off his cap, revealing an almost totally bald head. What hairs remained were mostly gray. He was a big man, with a big belly and broad flat hands. But for some reason, he wouldn’t look Conner in the eye. Guilt, probably. He knew this whole thing was a travesty.

“You wanna make that phone call now?”

Conner nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“Follow me.”

Tracy led him out of the small back room to the front of the sheriff’s office. Two desks took up most of the space, with a wide counter separating the officers from the public. A fan whirred from the corner, and Wanted posters lined the far wall. On the right were file cabinets. Three of them. They each had one drawer open, and Conner could see they were stuffed to the gills. This scam of theirs must pay off nicely for them to have so many cases.

The sheriff nodded at one of the desks, and Conner sat down. He had to call Information to get Dan’s phone number. Luck was with him, though. Dan’s phone only rang twice before he picked up.

“Leoni.”

“Dan. It’s Conner.”

“Hey, how you doin’, buddy? Long time no see.”

“This isn’t a social call. I need your help.”

“Okay, shoot,” Dan said, his voice immediately calm and businesslike.

Conner explained the situation. He left out nothing, including the bulging file cabinets. “It’s got to be a fraud,” he said softly so the sheriff couldn’t hear. “No one can go to jail for saying damn.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Dan said.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Calm down. I don’t know. Some of our little towns have some peculiar laws still on the books. I’ll have to do some research. And I won’t be able to do much of that until morning.”

“Can they keep me here? Overnight, I mean?”

“Yeah, they can. But I’ll make sure you’re out of there first thing tomorrow.”

He’d hoped for better news. Much better news. “I don’t like this, Dan.”

“I don’t, either. Just hang tough. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Conner hung up the phone, and as he stood to go back to his cell, he looked out the front window. They were lined up. Everyone. The woman in denim, the one from the bakery, the kid who’d bumped his chair at the diner. They all had their noses pressed up against the glass, staring at him as if he were a prize exhibit at the zoo. “Don’t you people get cable?” he asked.

“Come on along,” Tracy said.

As Conner turned to go back to his cell, he saw a nameplate on the sheriff’s desk. His first name was Richard. How about that? Conner had been arrested by Dick Tracy.

HE WOKE UP AT THE SOUND of jingling keys. It was almost 8:00 a.m., and he was going to have his day in court at nine. He still hadn’t heard from Dan, so Conner figured he’d ask for bail, then tell Dan to sic ’em.

“Morning, son,” Dick Tracy said as he slipped the key into his cell-door lock.

“Yeah,” Conner replied. He felt remarkably good, considering. The mattress had helped, and so had the aspirin. He’d ended up reading the Stephen King and it had kept him entertained. The biggest surprise had been the snack at ten last night. Homemade chocolate cake and ice-cold milk. It was kinda hard to stay mad at a sheriff who brought cake, but Conner had managed. No matter how nice, it was still jail.

“I went to the motel,” Tracy said. “Got some of your things. They’re in the bathroom.” He pointed down the hall. “Hurry, though. Breakfast will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Conner didn’t thank him. He just stood up straighter as he walked down the hall. That would show him who’s who. He slammed the door shut, and it occurred to him that he was being a dope. Tracy wasn’t about to let him go because he’d refused to say thank-you. Or because he’d shut the door forcefully.

The next hour went by quickly. After he was dressed, he went back to his cell. Breakfast consisted of Belgian waffles, fresh strawberries, orange juice and excellent coffee.

Then, just five minutes before they had to leave, Dan called. Tracy took him to the phone up front.

“What did you find out?” he asked.

Dan cleared his throat. Not a good sign. “The law is real,” he said. “It’s over 125 years old, but it’s on the books. But that’s not the worst of it.”

Conner closed his eyes. “What?”

“They can give you jail time for this.”

“What?”

“Hold on. They can give you jail time, but they don’t have to. I can’t believe they will. I’m sure all you’ll get is a slap on the wrist and a hefty fine.”

“You’re joking, right? They can’t really do this. Not for saying dammit to hell. I hear that on television all the time. It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s true. But it doesn’t have to make sense. It’s their town, and their laws.”

“Can’t we fight it?”

“Yes. We sure can. And we will. But for today, just be polite, act contrite, plead guilty and pay the fine. We’ll deal with the rest when you get home.”

Conner wanted to argue further, but what was the point? They had him, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Thanks, Dan.”

“Call me when you get home.”

Conner hung up, and Tracy walked him to the courthouse, which happened to be upstairs.

It didn’t surprise him to find every seat filled in the large room. Some folks even stood in the back. This was the weirdest place he’d ever been. The woman behind the bench didn’t give him anything. Not a smile, not a scowl. She was older although he couldn’t even guess her age. Reddish-blond hair, cut pretty short. A black judge’s robe.

He looked around as he was led to the front of the room. The crowd acted as if they’d never seen anyone like him before. As if he’d come from another planet. Or maybe they were so fascinated because they knew what was coming. He thought about the story, “The Lottery,” and he had a sudden image of himself being stoned to death. Nah, they wouldn’t. Would they?

He sat down, and the judge banged her gavel. The room grew instantly still.

“Conner Malloy, would you please approach the bench?” she said. No preamble at all.

He stood up again, and Tracy led him to his place in front of the judge. Her name was Elizabeth Larson. Up close, she looked pretty tough.

“Dr. Malloy, you’ve been charged with using foul language in front of women and children. How do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

“I see,” she said. “Cursing is an offense we take seriously here, make no mistake about that, especially when there are children involved.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, trying to keep cool. Trying to remember that Dan would fix this soon enough.

“So seriously, in fact, that I usually give jail time to first offenders.”

Conner felt a chill run up his back. The crowd murmured. Tracy took a step back, distancing himself from the bench and the accused.

“However,” she said slowly, and the word sort of hung in the air, “there is a lesser sentence I can offer you.”

The murmur behind him got louder, and Conner heard someone laugh. The judge banged her gavel loudly three times, but Conner figured it was the look she gave the townfolk that really quieted them down.

“I’m prepared to give you community service instead of a fine and a jail sentence,” she said.

Community service? He’d have to stay here? In this town? With these crackpots? Dick Tracy, for heaven’s sake. People lurking in doorways. Maybe jail wouldn’t be so bad.

“The decision is yours to make,” the judge said. Then she reached for some papers on her desk. Turned a page over. Then another.

The tension in the room grew perceptibly. Conner felt beads of sweat break out on his brow. He urged her to say it. To end the suspense.

She looked at him again, and her right brow rose as she leaned forward. “You can go to jail, or you can escort a very nice young lady by the name of Gillian Bates to a dinner dance a week from Friday.”

Chapter Three

Conner laughed. It was a joke. A big old practical joke, maybe for one of those silly television shows. He waited for the judge to smile, for the gallery to join in with applause. But his was the only voice. He turned to the crowd, and his laughter died. They were all staring at him, anticipation and excitement making them lean forward, making their eyes wide and a little frightening.

He turned back to the bench. “I’m sorry. I thought you said—”

“I’ll repeat it for you. Instead of jail and a fine, you may escort Gillian Bates to a dinner dance.”

He stared at the woman as he grappled with what he was hearing. He was being sentenced to a date? Impossible. Completely ridiculous. Quite possibly illegal. But it couldn’t be serious. “No,” he said, taking a step toward the judge. “Really, what are my options?”

The judge looked at him soberly. “There are some conditions to the community service,” she said as if this performance was as real as rain. “You’ll need to ask her out at least once before the dance. And you must let her think it’s all your own idea. If she discovers it’s part of your sentence, it’s an automatic jail term. If you don’t succeed in escorting her to the dance, it’s an automatic jail term. And finally, you must leave her kindly and you must wait at least twenty-four hours after the dance has ended.”

“You can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t force me to date someone.”

“Oh, but I can, sir. I can, and I am.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” the judge interrupted sternly. “Make your decision, Dr. Malloy. Jail or a dinner dance with a very nice girl.”

He knew he was awake. This didn’t feel like any dream he’d ever had. “Your Honor, I’m an attending physician at Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I—”

“And you’re on vacation.”

Damn. How could she know that? “Yes, but I have other obligations and—”

“And you’ll have to find another way to meet those obligations. You’ve brought this on yourself.”

“But all I did was—”

“All you did was act crudely and in a vulgar manner in front of very vulnerable ears, Dr. Malloy.”

He glanced behind him once more and was met with eager grins. The woman from the bakery. The woman from the first doorway. Even the sheriff. They were all smiling, urging him silently to do it. To say yes. What he couldn’t understand was why? Why him. Why a date? What the hell was going on?

“Dr. Malloy?”

He turned back. The simplest thing to do was agree, then let Dan fix it. Let Dan expose this insane town with its insane judge. “All right, Your Honor,” he said softly. “I’ll do the community service.”

Now came the applause. The whole room burst with it. Even the judge smiled. Everyone seemed as pleased as punch. But he planned on taking each of them to court. To a real court. Not here in Wacko Land.

The judge banged her gavel a few times, and the room grew silent once more. She’d lost her smile. “Do you understand the full extent of your community service?”

“I think so.”

“Please repeat it for the record.”

He swallowed, suddenly aware that he really needed a glass of water. “I have to take this Gillian Bates to a dinner dance,” he said. “But I have to ask her out at least once before that. I can’t let her know this is all some twisted plot and I can’t leave until at least twenty-four hours after the dance.”

The judge nodded. “Except for the creative description in the middle, that’s fine. Remember, she’s not to know anything about this.” Then she turned her attention to the gallery. “Not one slipup, people. This one has to go off without a hitch. We owe that to Gillian.”

She stood up, and the whole room followed suit. Conner felt a hand at his elbow. It was Sheriff Dick Tracy, ready to take him downstairs. He led him down the aisle where several people patted him on the back and one person pinched his behind. He whipped around to see who it was, but no one looked the least bit guilty. Then they got to the exit, and headed down the stairs.

When they reached his cell, he saw that his clothes had been neatly folded on the cot. That his shaving kit had been retrieved from the bathroom. He grabbed them, anxious to get the hell out of there.

The sheriff moved into the doorway, forcing him to stop. “Listen here, Doc. I know you think this is crazy, but you’ll see. You just do like the judge says and everything will turn out fine.”

Conner nodded impatiently.

“And, Doc? Don’t even think about leaving town. We know where you live. Where you work. It’ll be hard on you, you understand?”

Conner nodded again.

“I’ll see you around, Doc.” The sheriff moved out of his way.

Conner stopped again just before he got to the exit. “Sheriff?”

“Yes?”

“How am I supposed to meet her? Gillian Bates, I mean?”

“She teaches kindergarten at the school on Fourth. And she lives on Hickory Street. Thursday night she runs a book club over at the library, so you might try there.”

Conner didn’t thank him. He just walked out into the sunshine and into what looked like an ordinary day in an ordinary town. But he knew better.

He could barely begin to imagine Gillian Bates. What kind of woman needed a court order to find a date? He shuddered, then headed down the street to his car.

“WHAT DOES THE COW SAY?” Gillian asked.

“Mooooo!” replied nine five-year-olds.

“And what does the lamb say?”

“Baaaaa!”

“And what do we say when someone gives us a present?”

“Thank you!”

“Very nice, boys and girls.” She smiled, then sneaked a glance at the big clock over the chalkboard. Thirty minutes to go. Thank goodness.

Normally, her days went by too fast, but today had inched along at a snail’s pace. Teddy had waited too long to visit the rest room, Vicky had eaten two crayons and Max had let the class hamster out of its cage, which led to unbridled hysteria and a chase that lasted all through nap time.

“Okay, kids. Cleanup time!”

The children got up off the big mat in the middle of the classroom and headed in nine directions. A few of them—Zeke, Molly and Eli—actually picked up toys and put them on the shelves at the back of the room. But Jody and Luke decided to fight over a stuffed panda bear, so Gillian had to break that up. After quite a few tears and sniffles, she got them to shake hands and say they were sorry. Then, just as Gillian bent to pick up the prized panda, Sandy Goodwin tripped and spilled the entire tray of watercolor paints down Gillian’s back. She screeched and stood up so fast that she knocked the tray out of Sandy’s hand. It went flying, spraying the remains of the paint all over the front of her dress.

Sandy burst into tears. Gillian wanted to do the same, but instead, she gamely smiled, grabbed a roll of paper towels and started drying herself off. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Accidents happen.”

“But I didn’t mean to!” Sandy said between hiccups.

“I know. It’s okay. Now you just go get your lunch box. Your brother will be here in twenty minutes to walk you home.”

Sandy wiped her nose with the back of her arm, then slouched toward the coatroom.

“Ewww. What’s that on your hair?”

Gillian turned to see Eli looking at her, horrified at her disheveled appearance. Eli had a thing about messes. He didn’t like them. Except for his room, of course. That was ground zero. “You stay here,” she said. As she continued to wipe the paint off her clothing, she tapped on the window that separated her classroom from the one next door. Janice Epps, the second-grade teacher, was writing on the blackboard. Gillian tapped again. Finally, Janice heard her and came to the small window as Gillian pushed it open.

“What happened?” she asked, looking Gillian over.

“Kindergarten.”

Janice nodded.

“Can you help?”

Janice nodded again. “Give me ten minutes to finish up here. Then I’ll make sure your kids are taken care of.”

“You’re a peach.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Janice smiled, then went back to her class.

Gillian turned slowly and looked at her charges. The kids were busy, not necessarily doing what they were supposed to, but that wasn’t unusual. The attention span of a five-year-old is about the length of a Dr. Seuss story—a short one. It was a time of exploration and wonder, of testing and reaching. And tripping and falling. She took her responsibility seriously. She wasn’t just a babysitter. She was helping to mold lives, to build strong foundations in those little bodies. Only sometimes, such as when wet paint dripped down the small of her back, she wondered if she hadn’t taken the easy way out. What if she had stayed in California? What if…? Oh, what if she’d been daring, bold, instead of the scared little rabbit she’d become?

At least she was with Eli all day, but that was only for a few more months. Next term, he’d be with another teacher. The first of a hundred steps away that he’d take on his journey toward adulthood.

She heard a sharp cry and saw Teddy pulling Jody’s hair. Her reverie ended as she went to soothe their feelings.

THE LIBRARY WAS LARGE for a town as small as Miller’s Landing. It smelled like libraries all over the country, slightly musty, but clean, too, with a hint of lemon. Conner had spent so much of his life in libraries that even in this burg from hell, he felt welcome here.

He walked past the circulation desk toward the adult section on the right. New hardback books with shiny covers were displayed on two racks, then he came to the stacks. He let his hand brush the books as he wandered. After that he found a lounge area with comfortable chairs, good lighting, long tables in the middle, and in the back, desks for students. A group had gathered around one of the long tables. He stayed where he was, almost hidden, as he tried to figure out which of the women was Gillian Bates.

He recognized several people from the street or courtroom, so they were eliminated right off. His gaze fell on a woman with red hair. It was long and a little straggly. She was older than him by at least ten years, and her glasses were so thick her eyes seemed too large for her face. But, he supposed, she seemed pleasant enough.

Next to her was another woman he’d never seen before. Blond, pale, on the large side, she had her knitting on the table, and he watched her fingers move in a rhythmic whirl as she transformed the turquoise wool into something he couldn’t make out. She laughed, raising her head, and he liked the sound of it.

The rest of the strangers were men, so it was either the redhead or the blonde. He wasn’t particular. Neither of them was half as bad as he’d expected. But he didn’t make his move yet.

The book of the day appeared to be Smilla’s Sense of Snow by Hoeg. Hmm. He’d read that a few years ago when it had been on the bestseller lists. He’d liked it a lot although he didn’t remember all the details. But it was something. A common ground he could begin with. He said a silent thanks to the Book-Of-The-Month Club, then got ready to face the music.

He approached the long table in a circuitous route, passing Fiction G–J on his right and a magazine display rack on his left. Just as he was about to leave his cover, he heard the blonde say, “Did any of you get a good look?”

“I did.” The woman he recognized from that very first doorway leaned in, putting both elbows on the table. “He’s a looker, that’s for sure. Dark hair, wide shoulders. A good mouth, too. Strong teeth. And a doctor to boot.”

“But what about the rest of him?” the blonde asked.

“If you’re talking about his hind end, Shirley, that was mighty fine, too.”

Conner blushed. He knew they were talking about him, and it made him damned uncomfortable. It could have been worse, he supposed. The woman could have said he was as ugly as sin with the hind end of a donkey. Even so, he felt embarrassed. He usually didn’t mind being the center of attention, but this…this was so peculiar he didn’t know what to make of it. Well, at least he knew who Gillian Bates was.

His gaze went back to the redhead. She was fishing for something in her purse, which was remarkably large. After a moment, she pulled out a magazine. Cat Fancy. That was okay. He liked cats. No allergies.

Her hand went back into the bag and this time she brought out a little blue bottle. He’d seen one like it before. It was a marker, the kind used at bingo games. Still, no problem. Bingo was fine by him. It was probably real popular in this neck of the woods.

On the third foray, she brought out something small—a book of matches. Fascinated, he watched as she flipped it open, brought it to her mouth and started cleaning her teeth.

He winced. It wasn’t a pleasant sight although no one else at the table seemed to mind. And it really wasn’t a big deal. So she had a quirk. It wasn’t as if he had to marry her or anything. Just a couple of dates, which he’d end early, and then that was that. He’d go on his merry way and then sue the pants off Judge Larson. That made him feel better.

After running a hand through his hair, he stepped out into the reading area, heading straight for Gillian Bates. He knew they’d spotted him when all conversation came to a jarring halt. Seven pairs of eyes latched onto him, including Gillian’s. Her right brow went up as she looked him over from head to toe and then back again. She didn’t seem displeased, but then she wasn’t pumping her arm and shouting “Yes!” either.

He reached the table. The scent of aftershave and bourbon hit him squarely. One of the men, the one wearing the blue suspenders, snorted.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Conner said. “But I saw you were all reading Smilla’s Sense of Snow and I wondered if I might join you?”

“Don’t see why not,” Suspenders said. “Group’s open to the public. Pull up a chair.”

He did, making sure to smile and act harmless, choosing the chair next to Gillian’s. He gave her a friendly nod. “Thank you.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Suit yourself.” Then she went back to using the matchbook as a toothpick.

“I’m Conner Malloy,” he said, facing her, although he looked at the others briefly. “I’m new here. Just visiting for a week or so.”

“Yeah?” Gillian asked. He supposed she could sound less interested, but he couldn’t see how.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve come on a research trip. Your Mr. Johnson has some medical antiques that have captured my interest.”

“Why? You like to operate with old tools?”

He broadened his grin. “No. But I am interested in medical history. I’m writing a book about it.”

“Where are you from, Dr. Malloy?” the blonde asked, her fingers still flying.

As if she didn’t know. “Houston.”

“Y’all are just in time for the big parade next Sunday.”

“Parade?”

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked, her gaze on her knitting. “Gillian Bates saved a little boy’s life just last week. He was chokin’ and she just squeezed him and he spit the toy truck right on out. The boy was blue, they say. Two hairs from gone over.”

“That’s very impressive,” he said, nodding again at Gillian. “That Heimlich maneuver can be tricky. I’m glad to know it worked out so well.”

“Yep,” the blonde said. “She’s a real live heroine, and we’re givin’ her a dinner dance and a parade to mark it.”

“Sounds exciting,” he said. “Like something I shouldn’t miss.”

Gillian looked at him funny as he leaned in toward her.

“Of course I don’t know anyone here,” he said, trying not to scare her. “But maybe you don’t have an escort yet?”

Her eyes practically popped out of her head. “Me?”

He nodded. “I noticed you like bingo,” he said, racking his brain for something logical to say. “And cats.”

“That I do,” she said, and he thought she might be smiling, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I admire cats,” he said. “And I used to play bingo when I was at summer camp.”

“I see,” she said. “So that’s why you want to take me to the dinner dance?”

His own smile faltered a little. “Well, sure. Why not?”

“Uh, Doc,” the blonde said, her smile wide enough to show her dental work, “you—”

“Hush up, Shirley. I’m trying to think.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” Suspenders hissed. He was grinning, too.

Gillian looked around the table, then back at him. “Why not, Doc? I don’t have any prior commitments.”

He sighed his relief. One down, and now he didn’t even have to take her out on a date first. With any luck, he wouldn’t even have to see her until the dance.

Gillian looked up, past his head, to something behind him. He turned to face a beautiful young woman. She had long blond hair, big blue eyes that gleamed with humor, and a lovely pink mouth turned up into a bright smile.

“Hello,” he said as his gaze moved down in a quick once-over. The rest of her was as attractive as her face.

“Hello,” she said in a voice that made him think of spun sugar.

“This here’s Doc Malloy,” the blonde said. “He’s coming to the dinner dance.”

“So I heard,” the woman said. “That’s lovely.”

“He’s my date,” Gillian announced.

“I heard that, too. That’s wonderful. I know you’ll both have a terrific time.” Then she held her hand out to him, and he saw her fingernails were painted pink. “I’m Gillian Bates,” she said.

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