Karen Smith - The Most Eligible Doctor

There was a knock on the door to her room, then it opened. “Brianne?”

She recognized Jed’s voice immediately. “I’m awake.”

When he came into the room dressed in a white T-shirt with gray sweatpants, he was carrying a flashlight. “Now our power is out, too. The temperature in the house has dropped. Do you want to come down and sleep on the sofa by the fire?”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s sound asleep and snoring. I laid a down-filled quilt over him and that should do the trick. But we only have one of those.”

“What time is it?” she asked, unable to see her watch.

“It’s three. If you get warm, you could still catch a couple of hours of sleep before you have to get up.”

“All right.” Suddenly she realized the predicament she was in. “Can you turn around while I dress?” She’d crawled under the covers in her slip. Her sweater and skirt lay over the chair.

His gaze went to the clothes and then back to her. “I’d go on down, but you’re going to need the flashlight. Just tell me when you’re finished.” Then he turned and faced the door.

Brushing her tousled curls off her forehead, Brianne realized her hair was an absolute mess. But without her comb, brush and curling iron she really couldn’t do anything about that. Quickly, she got out of bed, slipped on her skirt and sweater. “Ready,” she told him, not feeling ready at all.

With a glance over his shoulder, he beamed the flashlight out in the hall. “I have an oil lamp lit downstairs, but I don’t want you to fall, so take your time. The steps are narrow.”

Jed waited for her at the top of the stairs and descended slowly. She almost bumped into him when he stopped at the bottom. As he turned, his face was very close to hers. “Do you need anything before we get settled?”

I need to be held in your arms, she thought illogically, then dismissed the irrational longing. Jed was her boss! And hadn’t she learned that getting close to anyone eventually hurt?

“No. I’m fine,” she managed to answer. She could see the muscles under his T-shirt. Black hair curled in the vee. Awareness zipped between them, and she swallowed hard.

He cleared his throat and motioned toward the living room. “You take the sofa. I’ll sleep in the recliner.”

A blanket had been tossed on the sofa, along with a pillow. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Jed as he sank into the recliner and raised the leg rest, stretching out his long limbs on top of it.

Wind blew against the house, causing the flames in the fireplace to crackle and leap. When Jed glanced at her, she made a point of pulling the blanket up and averting her gaze. The shadowed intimacy of the room made them more aware of each other instead of less. Brianne doubted if she was going to get any sleep, but at least she’d be warm.

“Would you rather work for Dr. Olsen?” Jed’s deep voice carried an edge of tension.

“Because of what happened?”

The mantel clock ticked.

“Yes. I never should have kissed you. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I can talk to Olsen about it—”

“No. I don’t want to work for another doctor. I like working with you,” she insisted quickly, in spite of her own misgivings. She liked the way Jed handled patients, and she was learning a lot from him.

The clock ticked loudly, marking off a few more seconds.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m very sure.” Her fingers played with the satin edge of the blanket and then she said, “Jed?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you leave a specialty practice to become a general practitioner?” It was the most tactful way she knew to pose the question. She wanted to know why he’d gone to Alaska…and why he’d come back here. She guessed something had driven him, and she needed to know what it was.

“My reasons don’t matter anymore. They’re in the past. I’m happy with what I’m doing now.”

It was a polite way of telling her to mind her own business. And she would…for tonight.

Aware of the soft, restless sounds coming from the sofa, Jed shifted in the recliner, unable to let sleep overtake him. He was strung tighter than he’d ever been…ever since that kiss. Even running the snow-blower on the walks, letting the icy wind and the cold wrap around him, hadn’t diminished the effects from it. If he didn’t block the memory from his mind, it replayed over and over. He wanted to take Brianne in his arms, do things with her he hadn’t imagined since he’d had fantasies as a teenager.

With an effort, he pushed thoughts of her away and tried to replace them with pictures of an SUV he might buy. Unfortunately, he pictured Brianne in the SUV with him!

He blanked out the pictures the same way he did memories of Trisha, sealing them in a tight box he never willingly opened. But just as recollections of his daughter caught him unawares, just as a glance into a child’s eyes stirred up emotions he never intended to feel again, he knew the passion and innocence and surrender of Brianne’s kiss would gnaw at him until he acknowledged at least his physical need. Ever since the first moment he’d caught sight of her, his subconscious had let her slip into his dreams—her pretty face, the bouncy auburn curls shimmering like silk, that perfectly shaped mouth.

He reminded himself again that she was too young and he was too old…too old for that kind of involvement.

When he’d met his ex-wife, she’d seemed young and innocent, passionate and giving. It wasn’t until after they were married that he’d learned Caroline had had an agenda. She’d been protected and safeguarded by her parents all her life, but she’d learned to manipulate them and everyone else to get what she wanted whether it was a new car or a husband she could mold into her version of the ideal.

Hadn’t Brianne come from the same lifestyle? Had she been raised to believe her money and beauty could get her whatever she wanted? He’d been wrong about Caroline. Somehow she’d convinced him she was something she wasn’t. Was Brianne as sweet and compassionate as she seemed? Even if she was, he was too cynical to believe she’d stay that way.

In the deep silence of the storm, the absence of the hum of the furnace magnified each and every one of the old house’s sounds—the crackle of the fire, the rustle of Brianne’s covers. Suddenly, though, her movements became more than a restless turning. In the glow of the fire, Jed could see her shaking her head back and forth.

Her hands came up in front of her as if she were pushing something away. “No! No, you’re wrong,” she moaned. “It can’t be Mom and Dad. It can’t be.”

The anguish in her voice tore at him. Jumping from the recliner, he quickly crossed the room and crouched by the sofa. “Brianne, wake up.”

When she still seemed trapped by the nightmare, he said, “Brianne, it’s Jed. You’re safe. You’re in my house. Wake up.”

Finally, her eyes flew open. They were wide with sadness and wet with tears.

He’d been fooled by Caroline’s tears too many times to count, but he knew these were different. Nightmare tears were genuine.

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