Mary Starleigh - What The Cowboy Prescribes...

“If it’s money…Kate and I could scrape up a few bucks.”

She looked up at James Dean, loving him for the offer. “It’s not the money. That’s the least of it. I need a warm, breathing body attached to a medical license, someone who just happens to be living in Jackson.”

Steve stared at the cracked kitchen sink, then turned, walked into the living room and glanced around. Every window in the house had been broken out.

He owned a certifiable, unlivable dump.

That hard fact, on top of the emergency in the café during lunch, grated on his nerves. He’d vowed never to touch another patient again, but when he’d seen the child choking, how could he not help? And the doctor he’d met after had thanked him so nicely.

An image of Meg Graham paraded through his thoughts. Her open, pretty face and expressive, chocolate-brown eyes still grabbed at his gut. The desire to see her again oozed through his body like warm syrup.

Steve danced the beam of the flashlight over the walls of the living room to distract himself from thoughts of Meg.

Why did I have to stop for a meal where there was a medical emergency?

An autumnlike breeze whipped through the broken windows and fanned across the living room to the kitchen, causing the screen door to squeak.

He wasn’t even sure where to begin repairs. The Realtor had said it was a fixer-upper. Spending the past five years of his life as an emergency-room doctor had prepared him to repair broken bodies, not plumbing or drywall.

Steve crossed the carpetless floor and stepped onto the small front porch. He gazed at the orange-streaked sky spreading to the far horizon. Its beauty was foreign to him. In Houston he’d never had time to enjoy sunsets.

The sound of a car and the flash of headlights coming down the lane brought his gaze around. A GMC utility vehicle kicked up pebbles as it turned into the only other driveway on the small stretch of road.

Must be his neighbors coming home. Maybe they’d know someone he could hire to replace the windows in the house. Then, at least, he wouldn’t have to sleep in his car for more than a few nights.

Taking the three small steps all at once, Steve lunged off the porch, hoping his new neighbors were friendly.

Meg clicked on the kitchen light and set her grocery bag on the counter. She glanced at the wall clock above the stove. If there were no emergencies, she might get a decent night’s sleep.

If she could sleep.

What in the world was she going to do about the demands of the insurance company? There were no quick solutions. And to top it off, the incident at the café this afternoon had rattled her more than she liked to admit.

The tall, handsome image of Steve Hartly danced slowly through her exhausted thoughts. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but there was something very different about him.

She puffed out a deep breath.

Something different, indeed. She’d practically hyperventilated when she’d looked into his eyes.

Meg chuckled. Even as bushed as she was, she could still fantasize about a good-looking stranger. She shifted her attention and gazed out the window.

“What a stranger,” she whispered. He was unique, but strange? No. She’d felt quite at ease with him even though he hadn’t said much. And in those few short moments, she’d sensed he had some kind of worry on his mind.

Meg shrugged her shoulders. Oh well, she’d never see him again. She crossed the kitchen and stopped to check the answering machine. The green light held steady, thank goodness. She tapped the beeper attached to her waistband as if knocking on wood.

This afternoon she’d finished her office appointments, returned all telephone calls and completed her house visits. For the first time in three weeks, she was caught up on everything except sleep.

Maybe if I splash my face with cold water, I’ll feel better.

Back at the sink, Meg turned on the faucet, cupped her hands and splashed cold well water onto her face in an attempt to relieve the soreness in her eyes. Then she patted her hand on the counter, in search of a towel.

Darn! All her towels were in the hamper with the other laundry she planned on doing. As she straightened, droplets of water ran from her face and hair onto her collar. A knock brought her gaze to the locked screen door.

Steve Hartly stood on her back porch, outlined by the wooden frame, his image blurred by the gray mesh of the screen.

“Oh!” Meg’s heart raced against her ribs, her breath coming in quick puffs. Why was he standing on her porch out in the middle of nowhere?

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His deep voice carried across the room to her.

“What in the world?” Meg’s chest heaved and her hand fluttered to her heart.

Steve’s expression turned to sheer surprise. “I saw a car…but didn’t realize it was…”

“What are you doing here?” Maybe he was strange. He could easily have waited and followed her home. The thought quickened her heartbeat, causing her chest to tighten.

“I saw a car and figured it was my neighbor.” Steve rested his hand against the doorjamb and squared his shoulders. Even through the screen the man looked extremely handsome.

“Where were you when you saw me?” Meg reached for a paper towel and patted her face dry, her heart still stampeding. At least the screen was locked.

“I own the house down the road.” His left hand went to his head and he scrubbed his hair with his fingers.

“You bought the Lemon House?”

“No.”

“If you bought the house down the road, then you own the Lemon House.” She pressed her fingers against her lips.

How in the world could he live in that dilapidated old place? And right down the road from her. She drew a wooden kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down.

He nodded. “Oh, Lemon House, right. I get it.”

“Everyone in town calls it that.” She stood. “Sorry I didn’t ask you in. Blame my bad manners on surprise.” Meg walked to the door, unlatched it, then pushed it open. “Please, come in.”

Steve filled the entire door frame with his brawny physique. Grime and dirt covered his jacket. A wave of sympathy rolled up Meg’s spine. The Lemon House’s condition was probably worse than she imagined. It had been years since she’d even been inside the abandoned place.

“Can I offer you a cold drink?”

“No thanks.” He looked around her bright kitchen.

“I didn’t think anyone would buy that old house.”

“I failed to ask the Realtor for details.” He smiled a little, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

She stepped back a tiny bit and looked up at him. Steve was taller than she’d realized. “You don’t plan on staying there, do you?” The idea of him living in the falling down house didn’t sit comfortably with her.

“I came over to see if you know of a repairman. All the windows are broken out.…” He squared his shoulders again.

Meg held back a smile. It was hard to believe anything could daunt Steve Hartly. She studied the pained look on his face and another wave of sympathy moved through her.

“I might know of someone who can help you. Please, why don’t you sit down?” She found her own chair at the table.

Steve joined her and folded his hands in front of him. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring intrigued Meg.

Her gaze moved to his, and she found him staring at her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Anybody else live around here?”

“Just me…and now you.”

The worry line between his dark brows deepened.

“Are you going to make some of the repairs yourself?” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. The man sitting across from her seemed to undermine her self-possession.