Mary Starleigh - What The Cowboy Prescribes...

Another fluttering of butterflies assaulted her.

“It’s tough being the only doctor in town,” she blurted. Now why had she said that?

Silently he studied every inch and curve of her body, then glanced into her eyes. “You look like you can handle just about anything.”

As if on the wild horse again, Meg felt her stomach flip-flop.

“Well…y-yes,” she stuttered, confused at her physical reaction to the stranger.

“I’ve got to be on my way.”

For some crazy reason, she didn’t want Steve to leave. “Sorry your lunch was interrupted.”

“No problem.” His right brow arched slightly, making his face more asymmetrical, yet more handsome.

“Sunshine has great food. You’ll have to…” The rest of her suggestion evaporated. What was she planning to say?

Steve brought his hand to his chin and studied her again.

“You might want…” Meg was finding it hard to complete a thought. “My office and clinic—” she pointed down the sidewalk “—right there.…”

She glanced back to the reflection in the café window. Why hadn’t she combed her hair earlier?

His brow arched again.

“Ever practice in a rural area?” she queried.

Steve shook his head.

“Well, it’s very interesting. Busy, though. Jackson’s a wonderful place.” She poised her hand on her hip. His eyes remained on her, and her mouth turned as dry as a Texas wind.

Darn it!

What was wrong with her? She’d felt so tired before she’d come down to the Sunshine, yet at the moment she was feeling so alive. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s sleep.

The sun came out from behind a feathery cloud, and Steve squinted a little. Tiny crinkles formed around his eyes and added to his attractiveness. There’d be no sleeping with this man around. Coming from out of nowhere, the thought jarred her.

Steve cleared his throat. “I should get going.”

Before she could say another word, he walked to a shiny black BMW sitting two parking spaces down from the Sunshine Café. His muscular legs carried his massive frame with ease.

Meg leaned against the concrete wall and crossed her arms. Steve opened the car door and climbed in. Through a lightly tinted windshield, she could see him settle himself against the seat and start the engine.

Then his attention shifted to her. His strong jaw accented his full mouth, and one dark brow arched higher than the other again, adding to his powerful, mysterious persona.

Meg’s stomach fluttered once more. She was either hungry or tired, and right now she couldn’t do anything about either state. She gripped her arms in a self-conscious hug, then raised her right hand and waved goodbye.

Steve didn’t smile, only nodded, then maneuvered the soundless automobile out of the parking space onto Main Street.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and shoved her hands into her pockets. Thank goodness that was over. But she was glad he’d been around to help Erin.

Cal Bradford opened the café door. “Hey, Meg, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks, Cal. I’ve got to get back to the office. How’s Donna?”

“She’ll be okay if I can keep her from working so hard.”

“You need to make her stay off her feet. It won’t be too long now until you’re a daddy.”

Cal smiled and then shook his head. “You know Donna when she makes up her mind.” He shifted his gaze to the street. “Good that guy was here.”

“Yes.” She gazed at the last trace of shiny black metal. “Don’t let Donna work too hard, Cal.” Meg nodded to him and started down the sidewalk to her office. She only managed to take a few steps before she glanced over her shoulder.

The black BMW had disappeared.

Hopefully, her afternoon and evening would be less disruptive than the past ten minutes had been.

Three hours later, Meg sat behind her desk, closed her eyes and wondered how long a person could actually go without sleep.

“You okay, Mego?”

She glanced at her cousin and held out the letter she was still holding in her hand. “My insurance company says I need another doctor for the clinic.”

“So go out and hire one,” James Dean Pruitt stated in his matter-of-fact way.

His innocence made her want to laugh, but the aching fatigue attacking her every muscle wouldn’t allow Meg even a chuckle. She shook her head. “I tried to find someone last weekend when Jackson almost fell apart without me.”

“Kate and I figured you went to Galveston for a long weekend. Not so, huh?”

Meg waved the letter again. “For weeks I’ve been trying to find a doctor who’ll work in Jackson. This bureaucratic memo from my insurance company gives me no choice now.”

“How so?”

“They’re demanding I find another doctor or they’re pulling my malpractice insurance.”

“Can they do that?”

“Sure. The suits at the home office claim that with my high doctor-patient ratio it’s unsafe for me to run the clinic.” From a tiny reserve of stamina, Meg found the energy to laugh. The entire situation seemed so ridiculous. Not one physician at the Rural Conference for Doctors in Dallas had been interested in practicing in her hometown.

Her head throbbed and her body ached. If she were her own patient, she’d order herself to go straight to bed for three days. Maybe this was how people really lost it—never getting a decent night’s sleep and then careering straight off the deep end.

“Nobody wants to come to Jackson?” James Dean’s question shifted her attention. He frowned.

“Not one. I’m still the only doctor for seventy-five miles.” She brought her hand back to the desk and thumped the golden oak with her knuckles. “I even paid my own way to Dallas. Do you have any idea how much hotel rooms cost in that city?” She brought her hands to her face and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.

James Dean rose from his chair, stepped over to her desk and rested his large palms on the only space not covered with papers. “Mego, you’re gonna wear out real quick.”

She inhaled a defeated breath at his realistic words and cradled her chin in laced fingers. He was right. In the past few weeks, she’d made mistakes from sheer exhaustion. She’d caught them all, but it was starting to spook her.

“I still can’t believe John left…and for money. I’m trying to take care of his patients and mine. One human being can’t do it all.” Being a small-town general practitioner gave new meaning to the word busy.

“Something has to give,” James Dean said.

“A lot of things will give. If I don’t find someone in a month, I’m going to have to close the clinic.”

Her cousin straightened, crossed his arms and stared down at her. “You can’t do that. We need you.”

“And I can’t run the clinic without insurance. That would be professional suicide.”

“Folks aren’t going to like driving to Fort Worth. How about Charlie’s asthma?”

“I know,” Meg whispered. She massaged her temples again. She’d treated James Dean’s son many times for a mild case of asthma. “Too bad the doctor I met at the Sunshine Café isn’t sticking around.”

“What?”

“Erin Waldron choked on a piece of hot dog down at the café. A doctor who had stopped for lunch helped out.”

She’d sign Steve Hartly up in a minute. A laugh slipped from her lips. She wondered how he’d like working in a run-down, dusty Texas town.

“Something funny?”

“No. Just thinking about a man I met.”

“About time.” James Dean’s eyes gleamed.

“It’s not like that.” But with only the brief memory of Steve Hartly, the silly butterflies were back. To fight them, she turned her attention to the letter on the desk. “What am I going to do?”