Praise for A Time To Mend, previously published as Gentle Touch

“Hunt deals with medical technology using clear, concise language. A dramatic and touching story that should find an audience in any library.”

—Library Journal

“Hunt has done an excellent job of unfolding a rocky romance in a warm, rich story.”

—Christian Entertainment

“The discovery of breast cancer can bring a sense of panic and loss of control. Jacquelyn Wilkes had lost her mother to the dreaded disease. Now, while working in a clinic as an oncology nurse, she discovers a lump in her own breast, which turns out to be malignant. Jacquelyn and her doctor, Jonah Martin, join forces to fight the cancer invading her body. During this process, she comes to realize that an equally dangerous disease has permeated Jonah’s heart and soul. As God brings healing to both of them, He also brings them together in love. Add this one to the fiction section of your library.”

—Church Libraries

Praise for Angela Hunt

“Angela Hunt is brilliant, and her pen is sharper and more effective than any scalpel I’ve used.”

—Harry Kraus, Jr., M.D., surgeon, and author of For the Rest of My Life

“[Hunt] is truly a premier storyteller!”

—Colleen Coble, bestselling author of Black Sands

“Good books are entertaining, great books are entertaining and thought provoking…. There is a reason Angela Elwell Hunt remains on my ‘must-read’ list. She does more than tell a great story, she makes me think.”

—Alton Gansky, bestselling author of Before Another Dies

A Time To Mend

Refreshed version of Gentle Touch, newly revised by author

Angela Hunt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of Jean Hunt,

whose bright spirit lives on in her son.

When we walk to the edge of all the light we have

and step out into the darkness of the unknown,

we must believe there will be something solid to stand on

or that we will be taught how to fly…

Author Unknown

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 Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Discussion Questions

An Interview with Angela Hunt

Chapter One

A dazzling white blur of sun stood fixed on the eastern horizon, bathing the enormous Chambers-Wyatt Hospital complex in a sterile light. Jacquelyn Wilkes stepped from her car, adjusted her spotless uniform, then drew a deep, contented breath. Before her stood the concrete and glass cancer clinic, the hospital’s facility for outpatient therapy. Her home away from home. The spot she’d been longing for through two eternal weeks of what was supposed to be a solitary and restful vacation on a Bahamas beach.

“No problem, mon, I’m happy to change gears,” she whispered. “Back to work. Let the rich and famous keep the beaches, I’ll take my job any day.” She lifted her chin, easily slipping back into the disciplined frame of mind through which she had captured the title of “Nurse of the Year” at the hospital’s last two awards banquets. At twenty-seven, she had been the youngest nurse ever to win that coveted honor, and she intended to keep it.

Gaynel Morrow, the receptionist, flashed a warm smile as Jacquelyn entered the building. “Ah, look who’s back! But where’s your tan?”

“Hiding beneath a layer of sunblock, where it belongs.” Jacquelyn paused to sign in. “Skin cancer, remember?”

Gaynel rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun at all, Jackie. You’re the only person I know who could go to the beach for two weeks and come back without a tan—or a man.”

“Red hair and sun don’t mix.” Jacquelyn snapped the pen to the desk. “And I wasn’t looking for romance, I’m perfectly happy with Craig. I wanted to rest!”

In truth, she’d wanted rest about as much as a dog wants fleas, but what else could you do on a solitary vacation?

She sighed in feigned despair as she looked around the reception area. The same old magazines littered the tables, the same morning talk shows droned from the television in the corner. “I see nothing around here has changed.”

“That’s what you think.” Gaynel leaned forward and lowered her voice. “There’s a new doctor in your office. Dr. Kastner finally found someone to replace Dr. Winston.”

“Another one of his old medical school buddies?”

“Hardly.” Gaynel let out a low, throaty laugh. “Jonah Martin is anything but old. He’s—” She grinned. “Well, you’ll have to see him for yourself.”

Jacquelyn felt a disturbing quake in her serenity. She was glad to be back, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with a new doctor. The recently retired Dr. Winston had worked at the clinic for years, and she had grown so used to him she could practically read his mind. But a new doctor would have his own way of doing things, and she’d have to learn to deal with an entirely different set of idiosyncrasies. He might even be one of those bossy types that ordered nurses about with impunity and flung blame on everyone from interns to orderlies when something went wrong….

Jacquelyn leaned against Gaynel’s desk. “What do you know about this new guy?”

“I have his bio right here.” The receptionist pulled a brochure from the papers scattered over her desk. “Dr. Jonah Martin graduated from University of Virginia Medical School with honors seven years ago. He served at UVA Hospital, then transferred to Tidewater General, then to Roanoke Community, followed by the Thomas Morris Cancer Institute in Seattle. Last year he worked at Jackson Memorial in Tallahassee.” She dropped the brochure and lifted an eyebrow. “Now he’s here.”

“So many places.” Jacquelyn frowned. “Don’t you think that’s strange? So many hospitals in how long—seven years? I can’t imagine a doctor moving his family around so much.”

“He’s not married.” Amusement twinkled in the receptionist’s eyes. “And his résumé is impressive—Dr. Kastner says the guy just keeps moving up to bigger and better things. He says we’re lucky Dr. Martin is willing to come here.”

Jacquelyn drummed her fingers on the desk, bracing herself for the day ahead. Not only was she going to have to shift her mental focus from vacation to work, she was also going to have to shift from Dr. Winston mode to Dr. Martin mode, whatever that was….

“Do you like him?” Jacquelyn’s brows lifted at the question.

“What’s not to like?” The phone buzzed on Gaynel’s desk, so the receptionist gave Jacquelyn a parting wave as she answered the call. Jacquelyn’s mind bulged with unasked questions as she crossed the reception area. Gaynel liked the new doctor, and that was a good sign. But receptionists and doctors didn’t work together as closely as doctors and nurses.

A breath of cool morning air blew past her as the wide glass entry doors slid open. Jacquelyn turned and flashed a quick smile at Mrs. Johnson, who led her five-year-old daughter, Megan, by the hand. Megan had gone completely bald from the effects of her treatment, but she gazed up at Jacquelyn with a bright smile and waved enthusiastically.

Jacquelyn gave a quick wave in response, then turned and quickened her pace, sighing in relief when she entered the hallway that led to the nurses’ station. She’d make sure Lauren or Stacy worked with little Megan this morning. The darling kid had been in treatment for two years and the prognosis was not good.

Jacquelyn moved toward the chattering voices at the end of the hall. She could claim to be so exhausted from all the fun she’d had on vacation that she couldn’t handle a squirming child as her first patient of the week….

“Dr. Martin, extension 210. Dr. Martin, please pick up.”

An unusual thread of exasperation echoed in the receptionist’s voice, Jacquelyn noticed as she checked her watch and pressed her fingertips to her patient’s pulse. “Pick up, Mystery Doctor, wherever you are,” she murmured. She paused to look up and smile at the woman seated in the chair beside her. “You’ll have to excuse my little wisecracks, Mrs. Baldovino,” she said, loosening the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s upper arm. “But Dr. Martin is new around here, and I’m beginning to think he’s the invisible man. I haven’t even seen him yet, but that’s the third time I’ve heard him paged this morning.”

“I like him,” the woman answered, her eyes darting nervously to the chart where Jacquelyn recorded the sphygmomanometer’s reading. Thin wisps of dark hair escaped from under the hat she wore and framed her pale face. “I saw him last week, and he’s the first doctor I’ve met who makes me feel like I’m not taking up too much of his time. How is it today—the blood pressure, I mean?”

“Pretty good.” Jacquelyn folded the cuff. “But a little on the low side. Of course that could be a reflection of the weight you’ve been losing.”

Mrs. Baldovino lifted her hands in apology. “It’s the chemo. I can’t eat after my visits here. I’ve tried everything from soup to crackers, but nothing will stay down.” She released a nervous little laugh. “I guess it’s to be expected, but sometimes I wonder if starvation will kill me before the cancer does—”

“We won’t let you starve, Mrs. Baldovino, I promise.” Jacquelyn turned away and studied the patient’s chart. “I see that you were given Adriamycin and Cytoxan on your last visit. Well, the antinausea medicines I’ll give you today should help. Emend and Kytril usually do the trick, and the doctor can prescribe a form of Compazine for you to take at home.”

The woman lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I know the drugs should help, but they don’t.”

“If you’re feeling sick, you should try not eating or drinking anything four to six hours before your chemo treatment. And when you eat, think of yourself as a grazing cow, not a hog at the trough.” Jacquelyn gave her patient a stern smile and took a deep breath for what felt like her ten thousandth speech about how to avoid nausea. She’d pestered her supervising nurse, Lauren Oakes, to put this and other standard lectures on videotape, but Lauren had insisted that personal instruction was more important than saving her nurses time and effort.

Jacquelyn pitched her voice to the tone she would use with a stubborn child. “Eat lightly, take in five or six small snacks a day instead of three traditional large meals. And if you experience uncontrolled nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, you should pick up the phone immediately and call us. Ask for me, Lauren or Stacy, not the doctor. If you let the condition continue all day, you will become dehydrated and we’ll have to put you in the hospital. And I don’t think you want that, do you?”

Blushing, the woman shook her head.

“I thought not. Call us right away, and we’ll be able to get an antiemetic to help control your nausea.” She smiled to cover her annoyance. “So if you’re feeling sick, what will you do?”

“I’ll call you, Nurse Jacquelyn.” Mrs. Baldovino opened her mouth as if she would say something else, but Jacquelyn stood and snapped the chart shut. Unlike Lauren and Stacy, she never encouraged her patients to talk about anything but routine matters. Cancer patients tended to want assurances and answers and Jacquelyn had none to give. She was a medical professional, not a counselor or preacher. How many times had that been hammered into her head during nursing school? She could still hear the echo of her professor’s mantra: Let a patient into your heart, and you won’t last ten days in oncology.

“Let’s get you ready for Dr. Martin. I’m sure he’ll want to hear about this nausea.” Jacquelyn lifted her hand and gestured toward the examination room. “If the invisible doctor materializes, that is.”

Without waiting for her patient, she moved down the hall to the freshly prepped exam room. She slid the woman’s chart into the holder on the door and smiled at the efficient thunking sound the file made. Mrs. Baldovino was now Dr. Martin’s concern.

“Will he be long, do you think?” Mrs. Baldovino asked, one hand lightly gliding over the wallpaper as she moved with glacial slowness down the hall. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous now. I don’t know why, but I don’t know how long I can wait without having to—”

“I’ll get you a basin.” Leaving her patient, Jacquelyn hurried to the supply closet. She flung the door open, then blinked in surprise.

Stacy Derry, another nurse, stood with her back against the shelves, a wad of tissues in her hand. Her nose was red, her face blotchy, and a hint of tears still glistened in the wells of her dark eyes.

“Stacy! Are you all right?”

The nurse nodded, her dark curls bobbing. “I’ll be okay.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It’s just that Hospice called a few minutes ago. Alicia Hubbard passed away last night. Her husband wanted us to know about the funeral.”

“Oh.” Jacquelyn pressed her lips together in a sign of respect. “Wasn’t she one of Dr. Kastner’s patients?”

“Yes.” Stacy gave Jacquelyn a teary smile. “She was such a sweet lady. Always smiling, she never once complained. I know she was in pain, especially at the end, yet she never said a harsh word to anybody.”

As Stacy broke into fresh tears, Jacquelyn folded her arms and took a deep breath. She was used to the sight of tears; she’d cried more than her share of them when her own mother died from complications stemming from breast cancer. At sixteen, Jacquelyn had been a lot like Stacy—frightened, unsure and heartbroken. But broken hearts could mend…if you learned how to bury the pain.

“Listen,” Jacquelyn spoke with calm detachment, “I know it hurts to lose someone. But you’ve got to get past the pain. Trust me, I know. I lost my mother and then became an oncology nurse because I want to help people get better. And as a nurse, I’ve learned to detach myself from the hurt.”

The tissues muffled Stacy’s words. “That sounds impossible.”

“No, it’s not.” Jacquelyn placed her hand on Stacy’s arm. “You can’t help your patients if you allow yourself to be paralyzed by sorrow or worry. They need someone who can be objective, who can stay cool in a crisis. They aren’t asking for our pity. If you go out there looking like this, you’ll only upset the patients who are still fighting to survive. If you’re going to be a good nurse, a professional nurse, you’ve got to stop blubbering every time something goes wrong.”

Do whatever you have to, but don’t let the pain into your heart.

A cloud of guilt crossed Stacy’s face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Jacquelyn sighed. She’d never get that emesis basin for Mrs. Baldovino if Stacy didn’t surrender the supply closet. “Listen, I know you haven’t been here as long as I have—” she reached past Stacy for the stack of aluminum basins on the shelf “—but this is an oncology practice, and many of our patients die. Some of them live for years after treatment, some for months, but death is a part of life. We’ve all got to die sometime, and some of our patients die sooner than the others. But you can’t let it get to you.”

There. She’d just given Stacy the standard speech on how to successfully work in an oncology practice. It was good, practical advice, if Stacy could make it work.

“I can’t help it,” Stacy whispered. She wiped her nose again. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop missing people like Mrs. Hubbard. She wasn’t just a patient, she was a friend. She brought me a pot of homemade chicken soup last winter when she heard I was out with the flu. She said her children always liked chicken soup when they were sick—”

“That’s where you made your mistake,” Jacquelyn interrupted, tucking the basin under her arm. “Rule number one—don’t accept gifts from patients, don’t tell them about your love life, and never, ever go to their homes. They can call rent-a-nurse if they need home care. Don’t get tangled up in their personal lives and don’t let them into yours. Don’t go to funerals. If you were close to a patient, you can send a card to the family. Trust me, I’ve been here five years, and I know what I’m talking about.”

Leaving Stacy in the closet, she tossed a final bit of advice over her shoulder as she moved away. “Don’t grieve for the ones we lose, Stacy, celebrate the ones we manage to save—if even for a little while.”

“Concetta Baldovino, if you keep losing weight, I’m going to have to submit your picture to the Ford Modeling Agency.”

Jacquelyn paused outside the open door of the examination room, the emesis basin in her hand. The tall stranger inside the exam room had to be Jonah Martin, but this man looked like no doctor Jacquelyn had ever seen. He was exquisite—no other word for him. Muscles rippled under the tailored denim shirt he wore, and the arm under his short sleeve was bare and silky with golden hairs. His hands, beautiful, long-fingered and strong, held the patient’s chart with nonchalant grace.

Half-aware that her pulse and breathing had quickened, she stood like a deer caught in a car’s headlights when he looked up.

For a moment he studied her intently, then his square jaw tensed visibly. “Nurse Wilkes, I presume?” he said, the blue of his eyes washing over her like a cold wave. “Does it always take ten minutes to retrieve a basin from the supply closet? Mrs. Baldovino was in need of your attention.”

Momentarily speechless in surprise, Jacquelyn could only gape at him. She hadn’t been gone ten minutes; she had left her patient alone for three minutes at the most. And who was he, the invisible man, to judge her?

“I—I’m sorry, Doctor,” she stammered, the words tripping over her unwilling tongue. She moved into the room and thrust the basin forward onto the table next to Mrs. Baldovino, then moved out of the range of those blue eyes.

The clear-cut lines of his profile softened as he turned again to his patient. “Now, about those photos for the Ford Agency—”

His ridiculous banter brought a smile to his weary patient’s face. “I don’t think so, Doctor.” Mrs. Baldovino shook her head. “My clothes are about to fall off me. And my husband says he’s not going to buy me a new wardrobe because as soon as I go into remission I’ll start eating again.” For an instant, wistfulness stole into her expression. “I think Ernesto prefers me with a little padding on these old bones.”

“I’m sure you grow more beautiful to him with each passing day.” Dr. Martin leaned back in the rolling chair and slid his hands into the pockets of his khaki trousers. “In fact,” he said, the warmth of his smile echoing in his voice, “as soon as you’ve completed this round of chemo, I’ll treat you and your hubby to a lasagna dinner. You name the place and time.”

“Ah, Dr. Martin.” Mrs. Baldovino’s dark eyes gleamed with wicked humor. “You don’t know what you are saying. We Italians are very picky about our pasta.”

“Of course you are,” Dr. Martin answered, leaning forward to pick up her chart. “Why do you think I’m asking you to name the place?”

Mrs. Baldovino’s smile deepened into laughter.

What happened here? Jacquelyn stared at the back of Dr. Martin’s head. A moment ago she had been subjected to a verbal scalding because this patient was supposedly about to vomit, but now the woman was talking about pasta and planning a dinner….

“Excuse me.” Jacquelyn stepped forward, crossed her arms and glanced pointedly at the emesis basin on the exam table. “I thought you were feeling nauseous, Mrs. B.”

“I was.” The woman’s smile brightened as she turned to her doctor. “But this man, he makes me laugh.”

“Ah, Concetta, now you are going to get me into trouble.” Dr. Martin flipped open Mrs. Baldovino’s chart. “According to Nurse Wilkes’s notes, you’ve decided to forego a mastectomy so I can give your husband a tummy tuck.”

The woman threw back her head and let out a great peal of laughter. “Ah, Doctor Martin, you are naughty! But you are right, my Ernesto could use more than a few tucks!”

Jacquelyn turned toward the row of cabinets along the wall and rolled her eyes. So much for polished and proficient…

She turned to him with a let’s-be-professional look on her face and flinched slightly when his powerful gaze met hers.

Dr. Martin leaned toward his patient and lightly slapped his hand on his knee. “I know how to really spice up this dinner we’re planning,” he said, his lowered voice a rough stage whisper. “For entertainment, let’s invite Nurse Wilkes. I have the feeling she’s a regular barrel of laughs.”

Jacquelyn pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling, her embarrassment yielding quickly to raw fury.

“Oh, I don’t know if that is a good idea,” she heard Mrs. Baldovino answer. “My husband would be happy to have such a pretty young woman along, but since I am not as attractive as I used to be—”

“Ernesto won’t even look in her direction,” Dr. Martin answered, making a note in the patient’s file. “He will be too busy gazing at you, Concetta.”

And what am I—dog meat? The prideful thought skittered like a wild rabbit through Jacquelyn’s brain. She glared at him, then jerked in alarm when the doctor lifted his gaze and frankly assessed her.

“Oh, my.” A mocking light gleamed in his eye. “I’m afraid I’ve offended Nurse Wilkes and we’ve only just met. I wouldn’t want us to get started on the wrong foot.”

“The wrong foot?” Jacquelyn sputtered, bristling with indignation. In an instant she forgot everything she’d ever heard about airing her grievances in front of a patient, about professional manners, about the respect a nurse should show to a doctor. He was new; he hadn’t yet earned her respect. He didn’t deserve it.

Rancor sharpened her voice. “I’d call sexual harassment the wrong way to start a working relationship.” She looked pointedly at Mrs. Baldovino, searching for an ally. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. B.?”

“Oh, my.” If possible, the woman grew a shade paler. “Nurse Jacquelyn, the doctor was only joking.”

Jonah Martin’s jaw clenched as he rejected the patient’s softly spoken defense. “Without a doubt, my joke was in bad taste.” Like a Boy Scout taking an oath, he lifted his right hand and stared into Jacquelyn’s eyes with solemn sincerity. “On my word of honor, Nurse Wilkes, I hereby promise that I did in no case intend to demean you or suggest that your participation in an evening of camaraderie and lasagna would be necessary for you to continue your employment. I hope that my jest did in no way cause you discomfort, humiliation or mental distress.”

The biting tone in his voice set Jacquelyn’s teeth on edge—was he teasing or just being cynical? Either way, she didn’t appreciate his approach to his patients or his coworkers.

She lifted her chin and met his icy gaze straight on. “Doctor,” she said, ignoring Mrs. Baldovino’s stricken expression, “if you will approve this patient’s blood tests, I’m ready to take her to the chemo room. We’re behind schedule, and other patients are waiting to see you.” Though why, she couldn’t imagine.

“Of course.” The infuriating man smiled again at his patient, whose nausea had apparently fled with the handsome doctor’s approach. “Mrs. Baldovino, I’m afraid we must get down to business. But my offer for that dinner still stands.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Doctor,” the woman answered, her thin lips twitching with amusement as she took the doctor’s extended hand and slid from the examination table. “Lasagna it will be. But I’d rather have the tummy tuck for Ernesto.”

“That’s plastic surgery and not my field, I’m sorry to say,” Dr. Martin answered, his voice pleasant as he stepped back to let Jacquelyn follow Mrs. Baldovino from the room. As Jacquelyn passed, she thought she detected a flicker in his intense eyes, but then he lowered his gaze to the patient’s chart and offhandedly remarked, “And it’s about time you returned from vacation, Nurse Wilkes. I must admit, I was anxious to observe the fabled ‘Nurse of the Year’ in action.” When he looked at her again, the mocking light was back in his eyes. “And now that I have, my life is complete.”

No honest sentiment in that acknowledgment.

“Good,” Jacquelyn countered, her mouth tight with mutiny. “Now you can die a happy man.” Without a backward glance, she lifted her chin and followed her patient to the chemo room.

Chapter Two

“So what did you think of him, Jackie?” Stacy applied just enough lipstick to emphasize her perfect mouth, then studied her reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ room.

“Honestly?” Jacquelyn ripped a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, then dramatically scrunched it between her hands. “That’s what I wanted to do after my first meeting with him today. I think I really hate him.”

“You do?” Stacy lifted a brow. “I’ll admit he’s no Doctor Delight, but he’s been very professional with me.” She pouted prettily in the mirror. “Too professional, in fact. It’s a shame that someone so good-looking has to be so…distant. I’ve been using every fail-proof approach in my little black book, and I can’t even get a spark of interest from him.”

“Maybe he’s too busy for a social life.”

“He’s only been here two weeks, how busy could he be? I think he’s got a girlfriend somewhere else. Dr. Kastner said he comes from Virginia—”

“I’ve seen his history. He comes from about everywhere.” Jacquelyn cleared her throat, not wanting to appear too interested, but dying to know more. “Strange, isn’t it, that he’s moved around so much? Has Dr. Kastner said anything about this guy’s experience?”

“Not really.” Stacy lowered her voice and turned to face Jacquelyn. “But now that you mention it, I have noticed something strange about him. Lauren tried to draw him into our conversation the other day at lunch, and when she mentioned the names of people she knows at the University of Virginia Hospital, he got real quiet and changed the subject. And then Dr. Kastner was asking him about someone in Seattle, and again, he changed the subject. Not too subtly, either.”

“At least we know he didn’t amputate the wrong leg or something.” Jacquelyn folded her arms as she leaned against the sink. “He’s not a surgeon. But some strange things have happened in hospitals.”

“Dr. Kastner wouldn’t have recommended him if he weren’t a good doctor,” Stacy pointed out. “You know that. So if there is some deep and dark secret in his past, you can be sure it has nothing to do with medicine.”

“I hope not.” Jacquelyn threw the wadded up paper towel into the trash bin and studied her reflection in the mirror. The receptionist was right, not a single trace of her vacation lingered on her face. Not a freckle or even the flush of sunburn to indicate she’d spent two weeks moping on a Bahamas beach…

“So, what about tonight?” Stacy pulled on a stray strand of hair. “Are you coming with me? There are bound to be half a dozen doctors at this party, all available, all up-and-coming and all desperate for a little relaxation and companionship.”

“Thanks, but I’m not looking and I’m tired.” Jacquelyn lathered her hands carefully, then immersed them into a steady stream of warm water. Nursing school had brought her a healthy appreciation for the secret life of viruses and germs, and thorough hand washing had become somewhat of a ritual for her.

“I’m pretty sure Dr. Jonah Martin won’t be there,” Stacy added helpfully.

“Well, that’s something.” Jacquelyn lifted her hands out of the basin so that the water dripped down toward her elbows as she moved to the paper-towel dispenser. “But I didn’t bring a change of clothes, and I’m not going to a party in my uniform.” Stacy had already changed from her white pants and teal smock into a short, beaded cocktail dress. She looked every inch a sizzling girl of summer, and not a whit like a nurse.

“You’ll be sorry,” Stacy answered in a singsong voice. “Have you met Dr. Fenton, the new guy in the surgical unit? He was asking about you the other day.”

“Dr. Who?”

“See, you really do want to come! Dr. Fenton is the tall Adonis with the killer smile. Last week he stopped Lauren in the cafeteria and asked who the gorgeous red-haired oncology nurse was.”

“Maybe he wanted to report me for taking too many catsup packets in the lunch line.”

“Nope. He told Lauren he saw you observing one of Dr. Wilder’s mastectomies. Said he was impressed with your commitment to knowledge, or something like that.”

Jacquelyn snorted softly. “Yeah, right. They’re all looking for a woman who’s committed to them. If he wanted a good nurse, he wouldn’t care what I looked like, but he’s looking for a trophy wife just like the others. A little missus to sit in his elegant home and host his cocktail parties.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Stacy flashed her bright smile in the mirror. “I’d be thrilled to stay home and organize a doctor’s social life. Lunching with the ladies at the country club beats the hospital cafeteria any day.” She paused once again to check her reflection in the mirror, then picked up the shopping bag into which she’d tossed her uniform. “After that call about Alicia Hubbard, I need a little cheering up. An evening of inane flirtation and senseless conversation suits me just fine. So are you coming or not?”

“Have fun without me.” Jacquelyn tossed the wet paper towels in the trash bin and leaned toward the mirror, pointing at nonexistent bags under her eyes. “See how tired I am? Dr. Blue Eyes kept slowing me down all day.”

Stacy grinned. “I didn’t think you’d notice what color his eyes were.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I don’t care what color they are.” Jacquelyn studied her mussed hair and abruptly pulled the hairpins out of what had once been a neat chignon. “He’s all wrong, and he’s too familiar with the patients. He’s like Baked Alaska—warm and crumbly on the outside, but cold as ice on the inside. With me he was cool and sarcastic, but he was practically flirting with the patients.”

“Jealous?” Stacy dimpled.

“Of course not. I just think he’s unprofessional and flippant.”

“But the patients think he’s cute and completely charming.” A thoughtful smile curved Stacy’s mouth. “I’ll admit he’s not exactly fun to work with, but patients seem to like him better than Dr. Winston. They often said he was too impatient.”

“What do patients know?” Jacquelyn shrugged, then fluffed her hair around her shoulders. “The best doctors have learned to keep a professional distance and stick to a schedule.”

“It all depends upon how you define ‘best.’” A devilish look filled Stacy’s eyes. “Well, you may not have noticed much about Dr. Martin, but he certainly noticed you.”

Jacquelyn froze, halted by the teasing tone of Stacy’s voice. “He did? How?”

Stacy’s brows lifted in accusation. “He asked why you brought Mrs. Baldovino in this morning when little Megan Johnson was the next appointment. He asked me if you had something against kids.”

Jacquelyn glared at Stacy’s reflection in the mirror. “I hope you set him straight. I like kids, and Megan’s one of my favorite patients!”

“That’s what I told him.” An indulgent glint appeared in Stacy’s eyes. “And I told him the truth—you haven’t the heart for working with the younger patients when things begin to go downhill. I told him that though you’re one of the best nurses in the hospital, that tough act of yours is just that—an act. You carry it off okay around adults, but around kids and animals you melt like a marshmallow on the grill.”

“Stacy—” Jacquelyn’s lips thinned with anger “—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t forget, you dragged me off and made me go see the Lion King with you. You were bawling like a baby in the first five minutes of the movie.”

“It was the song. Music moves me.”

“Yeah, right.” Stacy smiled and shook her head. “‘The Circle of Life,’ remember? You couldn’t take it. Face it, Jacquelyn, you may have the patients fooled, but you can’t fool me and Lauren. We know you too well.”

“You didn’t have to say anything to Dr. Frigidaire. I hope you didn’t tell him that I cry in kids’ movies—”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.” Stacy grinned and moved toward the door. “Well, I’ll miss you at the party. And since you don’t want Dr. Fenton, I’ll consider him fair game.”

“Have at him,” Jacquelyn answered, turning to follow her. “I’m going home where my very considerate, always steady Craig has promised to meet me for dinner.”

“Craig Bishop?” Stacy made a face as she pulled the heavy restroom door open. “I thought you two broke up.”

“No.” Jacquelyn caught the door. “After six months, we’re as steady as ever—or as steady as a couple can be when one of them is the world’s most ambitious entrepreneur. Craig’s the one who put the word ‘rising’ in ‘enterprising.’”

“Yeah, he’s a regular Mr. Wall Street,” Stacy quipped, leading the way out of the ladies’ room. “And about as dull as a dog biscuit.”

“Hey!” Jacquelyn lifted a brow. “Don’t knock dog biscuits—they definitely have a place in the scheme of things.” She smiled, thinking of Bailey, her year-old mastiff pup.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your drool hound.” Stacy’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Honestly, Jackie, if you spent as much time and attention on men as you do that mutt—”

“My mastiff is no mutt,” Jacquelyn answered, waving goodbye to Gaynel at the reception desk. “And he drools only a little more than a salivating young doctor. So good night, Stacy. Have fun keeping the wolves at bay.”

A warm wind whipped through Jacquelyn’s hair as she zigzagged through the parking lot toward her car. The wide highway outside the hospital hummed with six o’clock traffic, causing her to mutter, “Please, Craig, for once in your life, leave work on time!”

Craig Bishop was extremely devoted to his custom car business and, despite herself, Jacquelyn had to smile at the memory of Stacy’s dog biscuit remark. Craig was a bit like a lovable, cuddly golden retriever. Solid, strong and responsible. Good husband material.

A blur of movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Dr. Jonah Martin standing next to a red Mustang convertible parked near her own car. With one hand he carried a battered briefcase, with the other he dug uselessly in his pocket for his car keys. Jacquelyn felt her frown deepen. She should have known Dr. Baked Alaska would drive a modest sports car—it fit the casual, nice-guy image he tried to project for his patients.

She wanted to ignore him, but if she walked by without speaking he’d realize she’d deliberately been rude—and would probably say something about it tomorrow. “Having trouble?” she called, reluctantly pausing as she passed. “Did you lose your keys?”

“No,” he answered, looking over at her. Like Stacy, he’d changed clothes, too. His gold hair moved freely now in the wind, blowing over the collar of a casual knit shirt. In baggy pants and loafers, he looked more like a GQ model than a doctor. He was probably trying to look like a friendly, easygoing kind of guy for some party at the country club.

Nice try, Dr. Martin. But it won’t work.

“I know they’re here somewhere.” His gaze dropped quickly from her eyes to the pavement at his feet. “Unless I’ve grown a hole in my pocket. Ah—there.”

With a flourish he produced his keys and held them up for her to see. She nodded and began to move away. “Wait a moment, Nurse Wilkes,” he said, unlocking the car door. “I’d like a word with you.” His words sent alarm bells ringing within her. Was this about Megan? Mrs. Baldovino? Against her will, she stopped while he opened the door, tossed his briefcase into the backseat, then came around the car to stand beside her.

Instinctively, she turned to face him head-on, ready for whatever attack he might launch. This could not be good. In five years of nursing she had learned that doctors did not request “a word” unless they had a complaint.

Great job, Jacquelyn. First day back at work and the new guy already despises you.

“Yes, Doctor?” She folded her arms and tried to steady her voice. “Have I done something that doesn’t meet with your approval?”

He stepped closer, thrust his hands in his pockets, and for an instant a thoughtful smile ruffled his mouth. “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

His nearness was so male, so bracing, that for a moment her mind refused to function. She could only stare blankly at him, struggling with the sense of confusion his presence elicited. The other doctors never affected her like this—and neither did Craig. Why should this man?

He didn’t seem to notice that bewilderment had stolen her voice. “You see, Nurse Jacquelyn,” he went on, his eyes raking boldly over her, “though men are decidedly less intuitive and sometimes blind to the others around them, in the few hours of our acquaintance I have sensed that you harbor a profound dislike for me. And since we really have no choice but to continue working together, I need to know if this dislike will impede our working relationship. If you don’t like me personally, well, I suppose we can rise above our personality differences and concentrate on the work ahead. But if you have a problem with my professional conduct, my evaluations, or my practice, perhaps we should make arrangements for you to work solely with Dr. Kastner’s patients.”

All traces of amusement faded from his blue eyes as he regarded her. Jacquelyn had been ready to protest whatever he said, but his words were so unexpected she snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his insight and bluntness. He had just voiced her exact complaint about him.

She took a half step back, giving herself a stern mental shake. His complaint, if she could call it that, had nothing to do with her conduct, her evaluations, or her work. For an instant, relief flooded her heart, then her smoldering resentment flared. Why did he care what she thought of him? If this was just a ploy to help him appear generous and understanding, some trick to win friends and influence patients…

“If you’ve gathered the impression that I don’t like you, I must apologize,” she answered, calling on reserves of grace and tact she didn’t know she possessed. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful doctor. The patients seem to adore you, and the other nurses respect your judgment. Dr. Kastner seems to think you’re the best oncologist in the country.”

“But not you.” His twisted smile sent her pulse racing.

“I don’t share your sense of humor, Doctor. Mrs. Baldovino was very ill this afternoon, yet you joked with her, making light of her condition.”

His expression stilled and grew serious. “I assure you, I am never more serious than when I am with a patient. I don’t make jokes about cancer. What I did, if you had cared to see, was lift the cloud of gloom that surrounded that woman. She was worried sick that her husband no longer found her attractive. And she may have to undergo a mastectomy if this protocol fails to achieve remission—”

“We have a video to cover the self-esteem issue. We have videos to cover everything from hair loss to mastectomy scars. We’d have even more videos if I had my way, because it is inefficient for us to give the same speech twenty times a day—”

“A video.” Temper flared in his eyes. “I’m afraid a video would not help Mrs. Baldovino. She needed assurance—calm, competent, masculine assurance—”

“Which is not your place to give,” Jacquelyn interrupted, setting her chin in a stubborn line. “What gives you the right to interfere in your patients’ personal lives? You are a doctor, a professional. One thing I learned from Dr. Winston is that a physician shouldn’t worry about trying to make his patients like him. There’s something seriously wrong with the personality of a doctor who cares too much about seeking his patients’ approval. A good doctor should only care about doing the right thing for his patient. If you do the right thing, your patients will like you. And if they don’t, well, at least you’ve done what’s right.”

“Are you saying—” a silken thread of warning vibrated in his voice “—that my personality is seriously skewed?”

A pair of doctors walking through the parking lot glanced curiously in their direction. Jacquelyn closed her eyes, horrified to think she might be overheard arguing with a doctor.

Jonah Martin hadn’t finished. “You’ve worked eight hours with me—how can you know I’m only seeking my patients’ approval?” His voice was low, like velvet, but edged with biting steel. “It must be wonderful to have such insight into other people’s characters.”

“I only wish I had your flair for sarcasm.” Jacquelyn’s face burned with humiliation and she looked abruptly away, unable to face the blue flame of cynicism in his eyes. “I don’t know you well, but I know doctors.”

“You should spend more time learning to know patients.” His accusing gaze remained riveted on her. “You forget, Nurse Wilkes—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—that unlike any other medical condition, to patients like Mrs. Baldovino, breast cancer is an intensely personal affair.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“Apparently I do. A refresher course in basic patient relations is obviously in order. Let’s say, for the moment, that Mrs. Baldovino had come to me with appendicitis. That course of treatment would be pretty straightforward once she found a competent surgeon. She wouldn’t have to concern herself with her surgeon’s philosophy of appendectomy. She wouldn’t have to worry about which type of surgery he’ll perform. Her chances for survival after the operation would be excellent. And she would have little or no concern about the small scar on the side of her abdomen. The loss of her appendix would have virtually no impact on her physical or social well-being, nor would it pose much of a threat to her self-image.”

Jacquelyn bit down hard on her lower lip, recognizing the point of his illustration.

“But Mrs. Baldovino came to me because she has breast cancer,” Jonah Martin finished, his straight glance seeming to accuse her of unspeakable ignorance. “And if you have a brain in that pretty little head of yours, I should not have to say anything more.”

Choking on the words she wanted to fling at him, her lower lip trembled as she returned his glare. A black veil moved painfully at the back of her mind, stirring memories of herself as a sixteen-year-old girl who had just learned that her mother would never get well; that the surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy had failed….

She turned away, her thoughts racing. He didn’t know about her mother or about the careful camouflage she had placed over her own pain. For an instant she was tempted to fling the knowledge in his face—I know about cancer, you arrogant imbecile—but then he’d want to know how she could know about cancer and not be more sympathetic toward her own patients.

Calm down, Jacquelyn. It’s your first day to work with him. This is just a misunderstanding; he’s on some macho kick or trying to prove something. This showdown isn’t worth risking your job….

Like a drowning swimmer, she mentally kicked toward the surface dispute and took a deep breath of reality. “I suppose I’m just not used to your approach,” she finally said, sheathing her anger. She looked up to face his scrutiny. “I’ve been working in the oncology department for five years, and you’ve only just arrived. Dr. Kastner and Dr. Winston are objective professionals, more detached with the patients—”

“I know hundreds of doctors like Winston and Kastner, and I respect them,” Dr. Martin said, shifting his weight as he raised his hands in a gesture of assurance. “But their attitude is impartial. They are like judges. They see the patient and the cancer standing before them as equals. They are happy if the patient wins, but they are not particularly on one side or the other.

“On the other hand, Nurse Wilkes—” his eyes darkened with emotion “—I am a defense attorney. The tougher the case, the bigger my challenge. I will fight for my client. I will not be intimidated by an aggressive cancer, but will fight it with all the vigor, skills and techniques that I can muster. A happy, confident patient is a stronger client, and a strong client increases our chances of winning the case.” The eyes he turned toward her smoldered now. Taking a step forward, he rested his hands on his hips and inclined his head toward her. “Can you understand that?”

Jacquelyn had to resist the urge to step away, so unnerved was she by the staggering challenge of his nearness. His burning eyes held her motionless, and she felt herself slowly nodding. “I can try,” she answered, suddenly anxious to be away. The pull of those blue eyes was hard to resist when he chose to be sincere—no wonder his desperate patients adored him!

“Good.” He hesitated for a moment, then quirked his eyebrow in a question. “I’m assuming you’ll want to continue working for me? I haven’t proven myself too much of an ogre?”

“Not too much,” she answered, amused by the almost vulnerable look on his face. For the briefest instant she thought she had somehow disarmed him, but then the chilly mask of professionalism fell over his features again.

“Good. I want you to know I was joking about the Baldovinos and the victory dinner. I fully expect to attend, but I wouldn’t think of pressuring you to join us. I’m sure you have a full and satisfying personal life of your own.”

The chilly nature of the man reveals itself again.

“Now that I understand you,” she said, deliberately injecting a light note into her voice, “please be assured that I wouldn’t think of accepting any invitation you might ever extend.” She moved toward her car door, calling to him over her shoulder. “I realize now that your theatrics are performed solely for the sake of your patients.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he answered, his face as implacable as stone as he watched her open the door. “You’re a good nurse. Today I saw you pull organization out of turmoil and instill calm in chaos. You might even manage to keep me on schedule. Nurses with that kind of ability are hard to find.”

“Thanks.” She rested her arms on the open car door, then gave him a tight smile. “And I wish you the best with Mrs. Baldovino. I hope you are able to have that lasagna dinner.”

He nodded formally, then turned and moved toward his car.

Jacquelyn felt her smile fade as she slid into the driver’s seat. Given Mrs. Baldovino’s current condition, she wasn’t likely to be making those dinner reservations any time soon.

If Jonah Martin could overturn the death sentence looming over Mrs. Baldovino’s chart, perhaps he was a miracle worker.

“Of course, I understand, Craig,” Jacquelyn mumbled. With one hand she held the phone to her ear, the other hand lay imprisoned beneath Bailey’s massive head. “State legislators don’t come around every day.”

Craig droned on about the lucrative deal he was about to sign, and Jacquelyn yawned. Stretching out on her wide antique bed for a nap had seemed like a good alternative to wasting the evening in front of the television, so she and Bailey had fallen asleep waiting for Craig to come by. Her day with Dr. Baked Alaska had totally worn her out.

“Call me tomorrow and let me know how things turned out,” she murmured, slowly sliding her hand from under Bailey’s velvety jowls. “Yeah, I know you’re sorry. But you can make it up to me Friday night. Dinner out or something.”

“Where do you want to go?” Craig seemed sincerely apologetic.

“I don’t know.” Jacquelyn tried to smother another yawn. “Italian maybe. I’ve got a sudden yen for lasagna.”

Craig laughed and said goodbye, and Jacquelyn rolled onto her stomach to replace the telephone receiver. As she reached for the bedside table, she felt an unexpected twinge in her chest.

“Oh, brother,” she groaned, flipping onto her back. Bailey’s eyes opened and blinked, then the dog lifted his huge head and looked at Jacquelyn with a curious expression. “No big deal, sweetie,” she said, pillowing her head on her left hand. She slipped her right hand beneath the T-shirt she wore and slowly probed her left breast. There. On the side, at about two o’clock. A small lump, probably a cyst, nothing serious. The twinge was pain, and that usually meant there was nothing to worry about.

“Nurse, heal thyself,” she murmured, rolling onto her side. “No caffeine for a long time, and vitamin E at breakfast. The doctor’s recipe to counter fibrocystic disease.”

As her drowsiness thickened, she curled around a pillow and fell asleep to the sound of Bailey’s gentle snoring.

Chapter Three

Jacquelyn was delighted when Labor Day dawned in a glorious burst of blue. Craig had suggested they spend the traditional last day of summer by the lake. “I’d love a picnic,” she had told him when he called Saturday to tell her he wouldn’t be over because he was entertaining a prospective client. “I can’t think of a better way to spend a day away from the clinic.”

She’d now put in an exhausting two and a half months with Dr. Jonah Martin. Though they had managed to be civil toward one another, she had to continually bite her tongue in his presence. With the patients he was unlike any doctor she’d ever met—boundlessly optimistic, encouraging, patient and attentive to every complaint. And yet with the nurses he was aloof, distant and rigidly controlled. In one moment he would be laughing with a patient in the exam room, in the next he would be impatiently thrusting a chart toward Jacquelyn with a mocking, exasperated look in his eye. The buzz around the nurses’ station was that Dr. Martin held a special contempt for nurses, orderlies and office workers. And for the first time in Jacquelyn’s memory, Stacy didn’t rise to defend a handsome man.

“He’s an angel,” Jacquelyn heard one patient gush enthusiastically. “With those blue eyes and that golden hair—just like a halo!”

“A fallen angel, maybe,” Jacqueline muttered as she cleared her breakfast dishes off the iron table in her backyard and headed into the kitchen with Bailey padding along behind.

Dr. Martin was difficult to work with, and yet part of Jacquelyn was glad that he had joined the clinic staff. He lightened the workload considerably, even accepting several of Dr. Kastner’s difficult terminal cases. In the course of a month, Jacquelyn noticed remarkable improvements in their attitudes, and happier patients generally meant healthier, longer-living patients.

She learned that an encyclopedic mind lay behind the doctor’s charming facade. He knew dosages, drugs and protocols—medical treatment plans—by heart; contraindications and advisability results rolled off his tongue as smoothly as the alphabet. The receptionist was constantly paging him; doctors from across the country regularly called to ask his advice about one protocol or another. By slyly peeking at his telephone messages, Jacquelyn learned that Jonah Martin was involved in an ongoing study at Johns Hopkins and another at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. In the mornings when Jacquelyn arrived at the clinic, he was already on the phone in his office, and he remained busy when she left in the evening, long after the clinic had closed to patients.

A masculine force enveloped him, a great presence fostered by his striking good looks and enthralling blue eyes. Jacquelyn could not deny that he was intelligent, powerful and charismatic—when he chose to be. But he was also enigmatic, quick-tempered and, she suspected, more than a little dangerous. He generated awe wherever he went, but in the beginning, she reasoned, so had a lot of people….

Jacquelyn shook the thought away as she started her dishwasher and tried to concentrate on getting ready for a day at the lake.

She wanted to dislike him, but she couldn’t. He was too good a doctor. She would have settled for a decided feeling of apathy toward him, but her heart quickened every time his gaze met hers. She told herself her body was only reacting to residual anger from their first confrontation, but why did her heart hammer foolishly on the occasions he called specifically for her? He radiated a vitality that drew her like a magnet, but she told herself the attraction sprang from his unusual commitment to excellence and his uncommon caring for his patients. He was a good doctor, even if his behavior sometimes seemed as erratic and threatening as a summer storm.

For the first time in five years she had begun to see oncology as an exciting and rewarding field. Medicine, as seen through the eyes of Jonah Martin, involved more than cutting, burning and rebuilding. It involved healing.

Patients who had given up hope began to go into remission under his protocols, and every time good news came back from the lab, Dr. Martin’s eyes gleamed as if each patient were the first he’d successfully treated. He held impromptu celebrations for happy patients in the employee lunchroom and had the nurses send congratulatory cards to those whose cancer had entered remission. Not only did he congratulate the “winners,” but he also sent cards of encouragement to patients who were still struggling through chemo or the prospect of more surgery.

At first, Jacquelyn rebelled at the thought of hand-addressing cards. “Doesn’t he know we have these names and addresses in the computer?” she griped to Gaynel at the front desk. “And that long ago someone invented a wonderful thing called a mailing label?” But then patients began to show up in the office with his cards clutched in their hands and stuffed into their purses, and Jacquelyn realized that the patients appreciated Dr. Martin’s unconventional beyond-the-office attention. Personal greeting cards were silly, senseless and totally inefficient in light of the other paperwork the nurses had to maintain, but the patients loved them. And since something so simple apparently meant so much, Jacquelyn decided the extra effort wasn’t too much to ask.

She sighed and gazed out her kitchen window. At least she could go home at the end of the day. And in her cozy little house she could forget about Jonah Martin and enter the world of Craig Bishop. Compared to the unsettling Dr. Martin, Craig was as comfortable as an old slipper. And before saying goodbye when he called on Saturday night, Craig had promised that absolutely nothing would stand in the way of their Monday picnic. Jacquelyn looked forward to a lazy, sunlit day by the lake.

True to his word, Craig pulled into her driveway at 9:00 a.m. Though his mouth puckered in annoyance when Jacquelyn picked up Bailey’s leash and snapped it to the dog’s collar, he said nothing. Jacquelyn had adopted the dog from a mastiff rescue organization six months before, and she’d already grown closer to the animal than she would have ever dreamed possible. Sometimes, she told Craig as she picked up a water bowl from the kitchen sink, she felt like the huge puppy was almost human. He seemed to sense her moods, her feelings, and he was always there…which was, Jacquelyn reminded Craig, more than she could say about him.

“You know I have to work odd hours,” Craig said, throwing up a hand in defense.

“I understand, and I don’t mind,” Jacquelyn answered, winding the long leash into her palm. “But I like having someone around. And it’s not fair that we should go out while Bailey stays cooped up in the house all day.” Jacquelyn led the gentle giant out onto the front porch. “He won’t be a bit of trouble, Craig. He’ll probably just run around in the sun and then lie down for a nice, long nap.”

“Just bring a blanket to protect the car’s upholstery,” Craig said, sighing heavily as he followed her down the front porch steps. “I was hoping to sell this car tomorrow morning, but if you bring that dog, I’ll have to vacuum it tonight.”

“I know you well enough to know you’d vacuum it anyway, dog or no dog,” Jacquelyn said, opening the door of the sporty convertible. Bailey took one look at the small space that passed for a backseat, then turned questioning eyes toward his mistress. “It’s okay, puppy,” Jacquelyn murmured in soothing tones. She cast a devilish look toward Craig. “Uncle Craig won’t mind if you rest your chin on his shoulder.”

Craig shook his head, then turned back into the house. “Where do you keep those little hand towels?” he asked, taking the front steps two at a time. “I’m not wearing dog drool to my meeting tonight. Honestly, Jacquelyn, the things I endure for you…”

Jacquelyn reached in to pull the front seat forward, then urged Bailey into the car. When the huge dog had gingerly seated himself, Jacquelyn slid into the front passenger seat and made a face. “Well, this is cozy,” she murmured, noticing that she would be riding a scant five inches above the pavement. “I’ll never understand why men are so crazy about sports cars.”

Immediately, the image of Jonah Martin and his Mustang focused in her memory. His car wasn’t as sporty as this one, but the same macho tendency toward fast speeds and sleek lines must reside somewhere in his psyche. Thank goodness Craig’s personal car was a nice, safe, boxy something-or-other.

Craig appeared a moment later, a small towel draped neatly over his right shoulder. For an instant he looked like one of the harried fathers Jacquelyn used to see coming from the nursery at her church—babies on their arms, spit-up rags on their shoulders. The image suited Craig so poorly that she nearly laughed aloud. Craig Bishop wasn’t ready for children. He kept insisting he wasn’t ready for marriage, but Jacquelyn knew she could make him change his mind. After all, nine months ago when they met he had assured her that he had no time for a steady girlfriend, and within two dates he’d been calling her every night and sending flowers every weekend. The next steps—marriage and children—well, she’d sway him toward those things as easily as she’d persuaded him to allow Bailey to come along on the picnic.

Jacquelyn was in no hurry. At twenty-eight, she had already battled and defeated the “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” disappointment. She would marry when and if it pleased her, and she’d marry Craig or someone like him. Someone logical, efficient and charming. Someone who wouldn’t mind her career, her dog, or her aversion to cooking.

“All right, I think that takes care of everything.” Craig slipped into the driver’s seat and paused a moment to glare at Bailey, then shook his head again. “Jacquelyn, I’ll never understand how a rational woman can lose every shred of sanity when it comes to a dog—”

“The same way a man can lose all his reason when he adores a woman,” she answered sweetly. She placed a protective hand on Bailey’s collar. “And Bailey is not just any dog. He’s a mastiff. I researched the breed, I knew what I wanted, and then I adopted a dog that needed rescuing. I’ve waited four years to own a mastiff, and I haven’t regretted my decision for one instant.”

“Okay.” Craig held up his hands in a sign of truce, then put the keys into the ignition. “If he’s as good a dog as you say he is, I guess I can learn to live with him. But he’s your dog, Jacquelyn, not mine.”

The engine roared to life, and under the noise Jacquelyn’s heart hummed happily. Craig could learn to live with Bailey. So he’d actually thought about marriage. Jacquelyn had made it clear that she would never live with a man without being married and Craig seemed to respect her views. He knew her belief in God’s commands about sexual purity would not allow her to consider surrendering her body before vowing her life and love at the altar.

Maybe, she thought, relishing the feel of the wind in her hair as the car pulled out into the street, he’s planning to propose today. They had packed a romantic picnic for two, complete with flowers and a blanket. The CD player in the trunk was loaded with lush, romantic music….

She turned her face toward the street so Craig wouldn’t see the light of hope in her eyes. Her unfulfilled dreams were simple: she wanted a loving man to live in her house, children to fill the empty bedrooms, a promotion to supervising nurse at the clinic. All in good time, of course, but now was as good a time as any to begin.

Jacquelyn wrapped her hand in Bailey’s collar, loving the warmth of his fur against her skin and the solid dependability of the man at her side.

The future looked suddenly brighter than it had only a few hours before.

Craig drove with deft skill, slanting from one lane to the next, dodging the slow-moving holiday drivers. Winter Haven, the central Florida city where Jacquelyn had been born and raised, retained many of its small town qualities even as other neighboring communities mushroomed into tourist meccas under the influence of Disney World. Disney’s irresistible lure had brought quick money and rows of ticky-tacky motels to towns like St. Cloud and Kissimmee, but Winter Haven remained largely untouched and Jacquelyn was grateful for the city’s slower pace.

Over one hundred lakes lay within the area surrounding Winter Haven. She and Craig drove to Lake Silver, one of the larger lakes with a clean public beach. As Jacquelyn staked Bailey’s long lead into the ground, Craig dutifully spread the blanket over a shady spot beneath a sprawling oak. The dog’s chain was at least twenty-five feet long, long enough for the pup to play freely while keeping him safely within calling distance. Though Jacquelyn knew Bailey had the gentle temperament of a sleepy kitten, but the dog’s sheer size might intimidate anyone who passed by.

“Here you go, Bailey,” Jacquelyn said, setting a huge bowl of fresh water in a shaded spot. Bailey obediently trotted over, slurped up a drink and then looked at his mistress as if awaiting instructions.

Jacquelyn laughed. “Go on, check things out, have fun,” she said, waving the dog away. “It’s a holiday.”

Craig came toward her, his biceps bulging under the weight of the picnic basket. “He’s only a dog, Jacquelyn. He hears everything you’re saying as ‘blah blah blah.’”

“I disagree,” Jacquelyn said lightly, not willing to spoil the beautiful day with an argument. “He understands more than you can imagine.” She turned to give Craig a hand with the basket. “And he’s smarter than the average dog.”

“Yeah, right,” Craig answered, but there was no malice in his tone as he lowered the basket to the blanket.

“What on earth did you pack in here?” Jacquelyn asked. She knelt and lifted the lid. “It weighs enough to hold food for ten people!”

“Just a little something to get us through the afternoon.” Craig slipped to the blanket beside her. His strong hand closed over her wrist and his brown eyes sought hers. “I wanted this to be a special day. Something we would always remember.”

A blush of pleasure rose to her cheeks. A special day! Abruptly she looked away, afraid he would read her eyes and know how desperately she wanted to hear that he was ready to marry her. She was more ready than she’d ever been. The past weeks with unpredictable Jonah Martin had convinced her that she wanted safety, logic, dependability in her life…and if she were married to Craig, maybe her heart wouldn’t jolt and her pulse pound every time Jonah Martin’s voice rang through the clinic corridor.

“This looks like fried chicken,” she said, lifting out one of the neat containers he’d packed into the basket. “Umm, it smells good. But I can’t believe this came from the grocer’s deli.”

“It didn’t. I got everything from Just Desserts.” He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “They do more than great cheesecake.”

“Potato salad—” she pulled another container from the basket “—and fresh-baked croissants?”

“With honey butter.”

“And what’s this?” She lifted out a plate-sized blue tin and shook it. Something rattled inside. “Cookies?”

“No, we have cheesecake for dessert.” His dark eyes glowed with a secret. “Open it.”

She grinned and pried the lid off, half eager, half afraid to discover Craig’s surprise. A cry of relief broke from her lips when she opened the tin and found four giant-size dog biscuits.

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Craig remarked dryly, watching her. “I suppose the way to a woman’s heart is through her dog.”

“You are too much.” She leaned forward and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek. Though this wasn’t the surprise she’d been expecting, at least he was showing some interest in one of her guiding passions. Sometimes, especially when he canceled a date or forgot to show up for dinner, she wondered if he cared about anything other than his business. But he was an entrepreneur, a hard worker, a man who marched to his own drummer…

He helped her unpack the rest of the basket, then they arranged the feast on the blanket and began to eat. Though Bailey came over and looked at the food with frank longing in his velvet eyes, he seemed content to take one of his dog biscuits and retreat to a shaded spot under some bushes.

As Bailey delicately nibbled at his treat, Craig explained his latest ambition—an expansion of his custom car lot. “I see us opening a high-end, quality division for pre-owned vehicles,” he said, using his fork to chase a slippery cube of potato around his plastic plate. “Nothing but Mercedes, Cadillacs, BMW’s, upscale cars. They hold their resale value, and a lot of corporations surrender them at the end of a one-or two-year lease. The companies have no personal stake in the vehicles, so they don’t quibble over trade-in value. There’s a fortune to be made in that market, and I think I may know how to make it.”

“That’s great, Craig.” Jacquelyn nodded automatically and let her eyes roam over the lake. A half-dozen boats were crisscrossing the crushed diamond water, each dragging a skier or two. The whooping and hollering of the boats’ occupants reached even the shore where they sat. Several other families and couples had decided to picnic at this beach, too, though most had spread their blankets and opened umbrellas nearly at the water’s edge. Occasionally a small child splashed into the water or walked through the sand with a bucket in hand, an anxious mother not far behind.

Inexplicably, tears welled in Jacquelyn’s eyes. Her own memories of early childhood were sketchy, all but obliterated by the heavy, dark memories of her mother’s five-year battle with cancer. More recent memories were painfully clear: the long hours of waiting in the nondescript hospital lobby during her mother’s surgeries, the painful sounds of retching, the smell of disinfectant.

But she and her mother had run along a beach like this one; she had faded photographs to prove it. Surely there had been a living warmth in the sun, a delicious joy as mother and daughter laughed and splashed together under a sudsy blue sky. But the memory, the reality of it, had been buried far beneath all those other alive, unspeakable agonies.

Her father had managed to shelve the past and get on with his life. After five years of quietly mourning his wife, he began to date. And after Jacquelyn graduated from college and returned to Winter Haven, her father had presented her with the keys and deed to the house. While she stammered in surprise, he announced his forthcoming marriage to Helen, a quiet, serene woman who’d been his steady companion for several months. He would move to Helen’s condo, he told Jacquelyn, and she should keep the house. The neighborhood was settled and safe, the perfect place for a young, single career woman.

How could he walk away to begin a new life and leave her with the old one? Jacquelyn wondered. He had given her a house haunted not by spirits or ghosts, but by memories that had wrapped themselves like an invasive tumor around every piece of furniture, every dish towel, every picture on the wall.

For a fleeting instant Jacquelyn wondered if her father thought the memories would bother her less than they did him, but the place seemed strangely sterile when Jacquelyn returned. During her four years away at college her dad had repainted, sold a lot of the old furniture and installed new carpet throughout the house. The place was tidy, functional and sorely in need of a feminine touch.

And so Jacquelyn thanked her father and moved into the house which had belonged to her parents. During the five years she had lived there, she stenciled and upholstered and wallpapered until the old house now resembled an English cottage. A sloping bed of colorful perennials lined the narrow sidewalk that led to the street, and a white iron fence provided a safe boundary for Bailey. All in all, the place became a haven. Hers.

But even the safest and most pleasant of havens grew dull after a while. Jacquelyn was not so insecure to think that she needed a man, but she knew her life had definitely been fuller since meeting Craig. He did not thrill or challenge her—except to occasionally tax her patience—but she found him a pleasant friend. He understood her ambition; she appreciated his. And if her dad could marry for companionship, why couldn’t she? Love was for teenagers and romance novelists. After working all day with emaciated, weak, disease-damaged bodies, Jacquelyn found the idea of passion strangely wearying.

“So what do you think?” Craig’s direct question brought her thoughts abruptly rushing back. She flushed miserably, knowing she’d have to confess that she hadn’t been listening.

“What do I think?” She made a face. “I think you should tell me—”

A sudden yowling interrupted her. Bailey. Fear knotted inside her as Jacquelyn jerked toward the source of the sound, just in time to see the huge puppy clambering out of a stand of brush. He was shaking his head in abrupt, jerky movements while trying to lunge toward Jacquelyn, but his chain had caught on something. In one desperate effort, the dog threw himself into the air with a pitiful yelp, then fell limply to the ground.

“Craig, help!” Jacquelyn leapt up and ran toward the dog. The animal lay on his side, his chest heaving, the velvety folds of skin around his mouth covered with snow-white foam. Terror twisted around her heart. “We’ve got to do something, Craig! What could be wrong?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Standing beside her, Craig lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m not a vet, Jacquelyn, I don’t know anything about dogs.”

“Help me. Let me untangle his lead, then we’ll lift him.” Jacquelyn scrambled frantically into the brush, then found the chain wrapped around the base of a shrub. As her fingers trembled, she jerked the tangled lead around again and again, until the chain was finally clear of the obstructing branches. Within another moment she had unsnapped the lead from the stake and darted forward to free it from Bailey’s collar.

“Now, Craig, help me,” she said, tossing the lead onto the ground. She straddled the unconscious animal and bent to slip her arms under the dog’s chest.

Unbelievably, Craig stood with his hands on his hips and calmly shook his head. “You can’t carry him. That dog weighs more than you do.”

Jacquelyn was in no mood for debate. “Help me!” she yelled, her voice ringing with command.

Responding at last, Craig slipped behind her and struggled to lift the dog’s hips. Somehow they half carried, half dragged Bailey to the blanket. Jacquelyn hurriedly tossed the containers of picnic food onto the grass, then wrapped the blanket around the puppy. When the big animal was covered, she knelt and pressed her ear to the dog’s chest. The heartbeat was slow and steady, but the skin felt burning hot. What had happened? Heatstroke? The weather was warm, but Bailey had access to water and shade. Snakebite? Certainly possible. And puncture wounds could be tiny, or hidden in the folds of that precious wrinkled skin….

“He’s going into shock,” she said, forcing a note of calm into her voice. “We’ve got to get him to the car and to the vet.”

“The vet won’t be open on a holiday, Jacquelyn.”

Something in his infinitely reasonable tone infuriated her beyond all common sense. “Craig, I’m not going to sit here and argue with you. Help me lift him! Now!”

Stunned into compliance, he knelt by Jacquelyn’s side.

“Hang on, Bailey. Mama’s going to help you,” she whispered, wrapping the animal in the lightweight blanket. She pulled the fabric over the dog’s head to keep the sun out of his eyes. “If we can just get him to the road—”

“Honey, let me do this,” Craig said, finally rising to the occasion. He did not question or argue now, but gathered the animal in his arms. “On three, we’ll lift together, okay? Just help me get a good grip on him.”

Jacquelyn nodded, tears filling her eyes. In a pinch, Craig always came through.

“One, two, three!”

Together they hoisted the animal. Jacquelyn caught her breath and breathed a prayer as she ran before Craig to the parking lot. “Dear God, please let Bailey be okay!”

Chapter Four

An eagle rode hot updrafts rising from the lake and Jonah Martin put down the medical journal he’d been studying and looked up at the sky. Insects whirred from the trees above him, and the distant sound of food being scraped from a picnic plate dulled the cutting edge of his loneliness. Somewhere overhead a jet whispered through the cloudless sky, reminding him for the briefest of moments that he hadn’t been home…in a long time.

A sudden scream chilled him to the marrow. Out on the lake, a young woman on skis had fallen and was now splashing and screaming for help. For an instant his pulse quickened and his hands tingled in the old adrenaline rush he remembered from his stint in the E.R., then the woman’s scream turned to laughter and Jonah saw that her head and shoulders were safely above water. She wore a buoyant life vest, a skier’s best friend. Her boyfriend fussed loudly as he turned the boat to pick her up.

“Yeah, hurry back,” Jonah murmured as he lowered his eyes again to the reports he had intended to study on his day off. “Don’t keep her waiting, buddy, or you’ll be sorry.”

He reached under his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, consoling himself with the reminder that he’d learned his lesson. He’d been sorry every single time he’d ever become involved with a woman. Christine, the love of his high school and college years, had been more eager for a ring on her finger than for him. Marriage during medical school and internship wouldn’t be practical or fair to either of them, he had warned her; he’d be under tremendous pressure and working long shifts at the hospital. And if their love was real, it could stand the test of time….

But Christine didn’t want to put love to the test. He’d received her letter the week after his arrival at medical school; she’d found someone else, an aspiring lawyer from Georgia, a boy willing to marry her right away. “He doesn’t mind that we’ll be married during his law school years,” she had written, and Jonah idly wondered if she realized she’d be financially supporting her new husband as he finished his education. He hadn’t wanted to place that kind of burden on her. He was a doctor; he had years of schooling and hard work before he could seriously consider establishing a home. And so, after receiving Christine’s letter, he had guarded his heart against romantic entanglements.

He should have learned his lesson then, but he was a normal red-blooded male, and women, for some unaccountable reason, were drawn to him. He’d once heard a professor warn about the tendency for female patients to fall in love with their doctors, but Jonah had always found that his patients—mostly older women—thought of him more like a son than a love interest. His patients were no threat.

But other women worried him. Ever since the incident at the University of Virginia Hospital, he’d been careful to keep younger women at arm’s length. He had been naive and completely innocent in his UVA days, but one nurse he dated told a different—and totally fabricated—story. He’d smelled mischief on her as strong as the cheap scent she wore, so after one disastrous date he ignored her advances. Later, he tried to ignore her threats…and found that he could not.

And so began his troubles. His running. Now he was an expert at recognizing the lazily seductive glance that signaled trouble, and it always seemed easier to remove himself from a situation than to call for someone else’s job.

Besides, people always believed the woman.

So now he found himself sitting by a lake in Central Florida, one county away from Mickey Mouse, blocks from the southern belles who wore hoop skirts and talked with accents as thick and sweet as honey. Now he was the doctor he’d always dreamed of becoming, and the work here was fulfilling, even if it was lonely. From day one, he’d established a strong rapport with his patients and a frigid enmity with the women at the clinic—especially Jacquelyn Wilkes, whom he found particularly unsettling. He’d been harder on her than the others, though he couldn’t say what drove him to alienate her so ruthlessly. Perhaps it was her skill, her quiet competence…then again, maybe it was those green eyes.

“Hurry, Craig! I can’t hear him breathing!”

A familiar voice jangled across his nerves, nudging him out of his musings. Jonah dropped his magazine and stood. Jacquelyn Wilkes and a man were coming from the picnic area; the man staggered under the weight of a blanket-wrapped body in his arms. From the look of the sagging form in the blanket, the patient was a heavy adult, possibly a drowning victim….

Without hesitating, Jonah unclipped his cell phone and dialed 911. “We need an ambulance sent to the picnic area at Lake Silver, stat,” he told the dispatcher, then he disconnected and sprinted to intersect Jacquelyn’s path.

“Nurse Wilkes!” he called, falling into step beside her. “What’s the problem?”

For the first time he could recall, she looked at him with honest appreciation in her eyes. “Dr. Martin, thank goodness! I don’t know what the problem is.” Her eyes were wide with fear as she continued jogging toward the parking lot. “Heatstroke, I think, or maybe snakebite.”

Jonah nodded. “Pulse? Breath sounds?”

“Pulse is strong, but slowing,” Jacquelyn answered, huffing. “Breath sounds are erratic.”

“Puncture wounds?”

“None that I could see. But I didn’t look closely, there wasn’t time. His breathing was so erratic—”

The wail of sirens cut through the summer afternoon as an ambulance screeched to a halt in the parking lot.

The thimble-shaped man carrying the victim stopped abruptly and sent Jonah a crooked smile. “You called an ambulance?”

“Of course.” Jonah frowned, unable to understand the man’s expression, but there was no time to consider the quirks of Jacquelyn Wilkes’s friends. The emergency medical technicians were spilling out of the vehicle, and a curious crowd had begun to gather.

“Possible heatstroke or snakebite,” Jonah called, hurrying forward. He pulled the back doors of the truck open himself. “I’m a doctor, and I’d be happy to ride with the patient to the E.R.”

“Is this the victim?” one of the rescuers asked, pointing down the path.

Jonah turned and followed the man’s gaze. Jacquelyn and her friend were approaching, the blanket-wrapped body still in the man’s arms. “Yes,” Jonah answered, reaching for the stretcher. “Let me give you a hand.”

“Jacquelyn,” the burly man panted, halting with his burden. His flush deepened to crimson before the eyes of the curious crowd. “You’ve got to tell them.”

Jacquelyn lifted the blanket. “Tell them what?”

Jonah’s nerves tensed as the blanket fell away. The face resting on the man’s shoulder was black and furry; a velvet ear trailed over his arm. Long, lanky limbs pointed toward the sky, and a limp tail drooped out the side of the blanket. Jacquelyn Wilkes’s boyfriend was cradling the most massive dog Jonah had ever seen.

Someone in the crowd of onlookers snickered and one of the paramedics turned away to hide a smile. The other EMT’s face purpled in sudden anger. “What’s this?” He turned to Jonah. “You called us out here to tend to a mutt?”

Jonah held up his hand, but couldn’t think of a single word to offer in explanation. The red-faced man lowered the dog to the ground, then stood back, his arms folded tight across his chest. From the expression on his sweaty face, Jonah knew the man was wishing he could melt into the growing crowd and disappear.

At that moment Jonah could have walked happily into the crowd himself and wished the day away. But his traitorous eyes moved to the place where she stood, clenching and unclenching her hands, copper curls clinging damply to her forehead and the nape of her neck, her eyes welling like a stormy sea.

A jolt of sudden and unexpected desire forced him to look away. Jacquelyn Wilkes was a beautiful and desirable woman, reason enough for him to avoid her. She thoroughly disliked him, of that he was certain. Her dislike he could handle, he could even welcome it. He could work with her frigidity, aversion, even disgust…

But she’d honestly hate him if he didn’t help her now. One look in her eyes had convinced him that the dog, mutt or not, was precious to her. And if she hated Jonah, she’d want to destroy him. It’d be only a few months before he was adding yet another hospital to his résumé.

“Please, Doctor. Will you help him?” If Jonah had any doubts, they vanished when Jacquelyn spoke in the fragile and shaking voice he’d heard a thousand times from his patients.

Ignoring the flustered paramedics, he knelt to examine the animal.

“What happened?” he asked, lifting one of the dog’s eyelids. The jowls at the sides of the animal’s mouth had swollen, and the dog seemed to have difficulty drawing breath. Jonah abruptly brought his hand through the dog’s line of vision and noted that the animal’s blink reflex had slowed to almost nothing.

“I can’t see any puncture wounds,” Jacquelyn said, her voice choked with urgency and rising panic.

Jonah gently lifted the swollen jowls and peered into the dog’s mouth. A layer of white foam covered the teeth and gums, but after wiping the substance away he observed tiny red blisters flaring angrily along the pink flesh.

“I’d say the dog got into a nest,” he said, gently lowering the animal’s head. “Wasps or bees. This is probably an allergic reaction.”

“Allergies?” Jacquelyn looked at him with blank eyes. “But…that can be fatal! If his esophagus closes up—”

Jonah looked up at the red-faced ambulance driver. “Take us to the E.R.,” he said, pulling his wallet and ID from the pocket of his shorts. “I’m Dr. Jonah Martin. I’ll be responsible.”

“No way.” The driver planted his feet and crossed his arms, well aware that at least a hundred curious potential letter writers had gathered to watch the spectacle. “I am not running a canine to the hospital. Call a vet.”

“Look, you have to return to the hospital anyway,” Jonah pointed out. “Why not take us along for the ride? I’ll take full responsibility.”

“I am not—” the man paused for emphasis “—pulling up into my parking lot before my boss with a canine on my gurney. No way.”

“If you don’t take this dog somewhere,” Jonah lowered his voice, “it may die. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He had spoken quietly, but the crowd heard. “Give the dog a break, man!” someone called.

“Have a heart!”

“Ain’t you got a dog of your own?”

The driver fidgeted uncomfortably. “It still isn’t right. I’ll be in major trouble if I take a canine anywhere near the E.R.”

“You can take him to my office.” Jonah bent to help Jacquelyn lift the dog onto the gurney. “I’ll tend him there. And I’ll cover the bill for this run.”

Bowing to Jonah’s logic and public pressure, the driver threw his hands up and went to the front of the vehicle. The second paramedic helped Jacquelyn and Jonah load the gurney into the truck, then he waved to the crowd and went to the front of the ambulance. Obviously neither paramedic was going to risk his job by taking care of a sick animal.

Jonah turned to Jacquelyn. “I’ll have to ride along to let them in the building,” he said, watching the play of emotions on her lovely face. He’d never seen such a depth of caring in her eyes—not even with her most troubled patients. “I suppose you’ll want to follow later with your friend.”

“I won’t leave Bailey,” Jacquelyn said, hopping up into the ambulance beside the gurney.

“I’ll follow in the car after I gather our things,” the boyfriend called, backing away from the ambulance. Before Jonah could climb in and pull the double doors closed, he had disappeared.

But he’d said our things.

As the ambulance pulled out, Jacquelyn leaned forward and crooned to the animal on the stretcher. “It’s okay, baby dog. Mama’s right here.” Surprisingly, the dog whimpered and struggled to nuzzle her hand. Something in the tender exchange caught at Jonah’s heart.

Enough. Fix the dog up and send them home. And he’d have done his part to keep peace in the office.

Jonah settled into the rhythm of the swaying ambulance, then motioned to Jacquelyn. “If you hand me that bottle of saline solution behind you, we can start cleaning out his mouth.” He reached for a pair of sterile gloves and snapped them on. “I don’t know how many regulations we’re breaking here today—” He looked up at her and paused, struck by the fine shape of her mouth and the slender column of her throat. When he could speak again, his voice was more subdued. “But I trust this is for a good cause.”

Jacquelyn did not look up. The fringe of her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she monitored the dog’s breathing and reached for the saline. “Yes, Doctor, it is. If you have a dog, I’m sure you understand.”

Jonah leaned over the animal, his jaw tightening. “I don’t have a dog. I live alone.”

She did look at him then, and in her expressive eyes he saw mingled tenderness and pity. “Well, I’m sure you’ve loved a dog sometime. And you know we dog people would do just about anything for our animals.”

He lifted a brow and looked back down at his patient, gingerly running a gloved finger around the inside of the dog’s jowl to check for any abrasions or lumps. “He won’t bite me, will he?”

“No,” Jacquelyn answered, taking the animal’s massive head into her hands. She cast Jonah an inquisitive look. “For some reason, I thought you’d have a dog. I kinda figured you were the Chow type. Or maybe a Rottweiler.”

“No dog, no cat, not even a gerbil,” Jonah answered, absently reaching for her hand. She inhaled sharply at his touch and he ignored her reaction, though the slight contact sent a giddy sense of pleasure through his own senses.

“If you please, Nurse,” he said, keeping his eyes upon the dog as he moved her hand toward the animal’s muzzle, “would you retract this flap of skin? I need a clear look inside that mouth.”

“Of course.” Her strong, sure fingers left his and pulled back on the loose jowls. Jonah flipped on the overhead dome lights and peered into the animal’s mouth. A series of red, angry welts glared through a thin layer of whitish foam. His hunch was right. Jacquelyn’s dog had disturbed a nest of insects, probably yellow jackets from the vicious look of things. During his E.R. rotation Jonah had treated a little boy with similar welts.

“No pets at all?” Jacquelyn made a soft clucking sound as she handed him a square of sterile gauze to wipe the inflamed area. “How do you live? No shoes chewed, no vet bills to pay, no snores waking you in the middle of the night.” Grateful green eyes slanted toward him. “How can you come home to an empty house when you could have unlimited hugs and snuggles?”

His inner antennae picked up what could have been a not-so-subtle flirtation and he stiffened, instantly on his guard. But she was studying the dog, concentrating on the animal, and after an instant Jonah decided that she meant nothing by the remark. After all, she had been at the park with a man. And if Jonah’s luck was running true to form, he was the last man on earth an intelligent woman like Jacquelyn would ever be drawn to. The women he attracted were like radio stations—anyone could pick them up, especially at night.

He gently wiped the swollen area, then tossed the soiled gauze toward a trash bin. “I hope my house won’t always be empty.” Now who’s dropping hints? He took pains to keep his eyes on the patient; it wouldn’t be wise to lose himself in Jacquelyn’s emerald gaze.

“Oh?” Her voice was cool and impersonal. “Planning on getting a pet—or a wife?”

He lowered the animal’s lip and motioned for her to turn the dog’s head so he could check the other side. He couldn’t bring himself to risk touching her hand again.

“I don’t know.” He reached for another square of gauze. Funny, he should have been annoyed at this interruption of his holiday, yet he was enjoying every minute of this chance encounter. “Maybe I can find a wife who will give lots of snuggles and not chew shoes.”

It was the most pleasant, teasing thing he had ever said to her, and he didn’t dare lift his gaze to see how she’d respond. She remained silent for a moment, almost as if she were holding her breath. When she spoke again, her voice was light. “If you’re very lucky,” she said, one hand beginning to stroke the dog’s sweaty side, “you’ll find a wife with a dog.”

Enough. Stop now. Why in the world was he flirting with a nurse? He scarcely knew Jacquelyn Wilkes, and he had no idea how she was reading his comments. If he wasn’t careful, tomorrow she’d be telling the entire office that he’d asked her to marry him, and when he denied it she’d sue for sexual harassment or breach of promise or something.

He frowned. “You animal lovers are the strangest people.” He wiped the inflamed gums with the sterile square. “You’re totally illogical. People like you are the happiest when they are the most inconvenienced.”

He looked up, expecting to see her usual stern expression, but she only smiled and took the dirty gauze from his gloved hand.

“Isn’t that what love is all about?” she asked, looking at the dog with a tenderness he’d never seen in her eyes before.

The ambulance engine slowed and died, and a moment later the surly paramedic opened the rear doors. “End of the road for the mutt, Doc,” he said, gesturing to the clinic outside. “Your office, just like you ordered.”

Jonah smiled his thanks and grabbed the end of the stretcher. “Just give me a hand getting the dog in, and I’ll see you get a commendation for going above and beyond the call of duty.”

After injections of steroids and antihistamines to treat shock and counter the insect venom, Jonah measured out a ten-day supply of amoxicillin from pharmaceutical samples, then labeled a prescription bottle for “Bailey Wilkes.”

“I’d say give him two and a half of these twice a day, but you’ll want to double-check the dosage with your vet.” He made a note on a chart he’d improvised from the supplies on hand, then looked up to find Jacquelyn studying him, a glint of wonder in her eyes. He frowned. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she said, a smile trembling over her lips as she soothed the recovering animal. “It’s just that—well, you’ve surprised me, Doctor. Dr. Kastner would have let Bailey die right there at the lake. Probably ninety percent of the doctors in this hospital wouldn’t want to be bothered with an animal, especially on a holiday.”

“Ninety percent of the doctors in this hospital don’t have my seriously skewed personality.” He snapped the file shut and slid it toward her. “They don’t care if their patients like them.”

A blush ran like a shadow over her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to say that.”

She looked so vulnerable, so guilty, that he had to stifle an urge to walk forward and pull her into his arms.

“No, you were right.” He looked away, pretending to search for something on the desk. “A doctor must be careful not to get so involved that he can’t see things clearly. But I’ve always found it’s far easier to get involved with the patients than with—”

Attractive nurses. He stiffened, embarrassed at what he’d almost said. Fortunately, Jacquelyn’s attention seemed focused on the animal.

“I guess you could say I’m just a sucker for eyes that color,” he whispered, keenly feeling the great gulf between what he was and what he suddenly wanted to be.

“They’re coffee-brown,” she said, casting him a fleeting smile. “I’m a sucker for Bailey’s eyes, too.”

He turned away to clean up the counter, allowing her to misunderstand what he’d meant. Don’t even think about it, he warned himself. She’s your nurse. She has a boyfriend, that’s plain enough. Remember the past, stay aloof. Romance and medicine don’t mix.

As if she’d read his thoughts about the boyfriend, Jacquelyn quietly left the room and walked out to the reception area. When she came back a few moments later, she carried a yellow sticky note. “A message from Craig,” she said, a frown settling between her delicate brows. “He says he came, he waited, he had to leave. He had an important appointment at four o’clock.”

Jonah glanced up. “Is that a problem?”

“A little one.” She smiled tentatively. “I hate to bother you, Doctor, especially after all you’ve done today for me and Bailey. But we’re stuck.” She tucked her hands into the belt at her waist. “Without a car, I mean. I guess I could call a cab, but I don’t know how I’ll get Bailey into the backseat.”

“There’s no way you can carry this dog by yourself,” Jonah pointed out. “And Bailey still doesn’t look very steady on his feet. I’ll call a taxi and take you both home. I jogged over to the lake, so I’ll need a cab to get home, anyway.”

Her face was firmly set in deep thought. “That’s asking too much. I need to stay here and clean up the mess we’ve made. I should move Bailey to the waiting area so I can sterilize and prep this room, and then I have to make a list of all the meds you gave him so I can submit and pay the bill.”

She suddenly smiled and tilted her sleepy-cat eyes toward him. “And since I can’t afford your hourly rate, Doctor, just forget about doing anything else for me. Bailey and I can hang out here until Craig is done with his appointment. I’ll call him at five or so. He’ll come and pick us up when he can.”

He laughed, honestly amused by her detailed sense of integrity. “Forget it. Don’t bill yourself for anything,” he insisted, turning toward the sink. “Practically everything I used was a free sample. Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze came to rest on her questioning eyes, then his instinct for self-preservation forced him to turn away.

What was he doing? Acting like a fool, again. He ought to leave her and take a cab back to his apartment. He could spend the night surfing the Internet, and he needed to check out some recent stats from a Johns Hopkins project…but it was a holiday and he did need to relax.

Maybe, just this once, nothing bad would happen.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve never walked out on a patient without making sure that he or she was resting comfortably, and I don’t intend to start now. Really, I’d love to see you home…unless you’d really rather wait for—what’s his name? Craig.”

A spark of some indefinable emotion lit her eyes at the mention of the boyfriend’s name. She smiled to herself, then crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “There is no way of knowing how long Craig will be. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind taking us?”

He turned the faucet and began to scrub his hands. “Absolutely sure, that is if Craig won’t mind. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

There. In one statement he’d told her that he meant nothing by his offer and given her the perfect opportunity to laugh and say that Craig was her brother, her cousin, or some casual friend she barely knew…but she didn’t.

“Craig would understand,” she said, her smile fading a little. “A ride home is…no big deal.”

Jonah forced a smile as he shut off the water and allowed his hands to drip into the sink. “Well, you’re going to need help carrying the beast to the waiting room so we can clean up in here. By tomorrow morning, not even the county health department will be able to tell that we’ve treated anything other than Homo sapiens in this clinic.”

Her pensive expression softened into one of fond gratitude as she moved toward the cabinet containing the cleaning supplies. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Dr. Martin. What you did today…well, I wouldn’t have expected it from any doctor. You really surprised me.”

“Nurse Wilkes,” he said, smiling wryly as he reached for a paper towel, “sometimes I surprise myself.”

Chapter Five

The cab pulled up in front of one of the older, dignified homes Jonah had often admired along the lakefront. Wide stuccoed pillars lined the edge of a gleaming wooden porch where a swing for two drifted lazily in the afternoon breeze. Jonah paid the taxi driver and together the two men hoisted the huge mastiff from the vehicle’s backseat.

Bailey, still a bit wobbly on his feet, had to be half urged, half carried up the front steps, but as soon as Jacquelyn and Jonah got him into the house the dog perked up and trotted gratefully to an old blanket by the fireplace.

“He knows he’s home,” Jonah observed, watching as the dog curled up for a nap. “And I have to admit, it’s nice to see a dog by the fireplace.”

“Even if we hardly ever have a fire,” Jacquelyn answered, dropping her keys on a small desk as she passed through the foyer into a cheery kitchen. “Let me get you a cold drink, Doctor Martin. It’s still as hot as blazes outside and carrying Bailey is no easy job.”

He paused, weighing the heaviness of his past experience against the unwelcome prospect of another night alone in his apartment. Why shouldn’t he stay for a few minutes? He had planned to walk back to his apartment from here, and it would be nice to enjoy a cold drink before setting out. This meant nothing. Jacquelyn Wilkes had a boyfriend; she certainly wasn’t interested in him. In fact, as soon as her gratitude for his help wore off, she’d probably pick up her quiet crusade of aversion right where she left off.

“I’ll take a Coke, if you have one,” Jonah answered, following her into the kitchen. “Thanks for the offer, Nurse Wilkes.”

“Nurse Wilkes?” She wrinkled her nose as she gracefully stepped to a cupboard. “After the day we’ve had, don’t you think you can call me Jacquelyn? Dr. Kastner does.”

He pressed his lips together, uncomfortable with this new level of intimacy. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

“I prefer. I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘Nurse Wilkes’ stuff. It’s Jacquelyn. Or Jackie. Whichever you like better.”

“Which do you prefer?”

She paused. “Funny,” she said, slowly opening the cupboard door. “No one’s ever asked me that. My father calls me Jacquelyn, pronounced the French way—you know, Zhock-leen. My brother calls me Jack, and Craig calls me Jacquelyn.”

The boyfriend. He was someone significant, or she wouldn’t have mentioned him. Jonah felt his reserve begin to thaw. He forced a smile. “And what does Bailey call you?”

Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Mom.”

She pulled two glasses from the cupboard, then stole a glance at his face. “It’s okay to smile, you know, neither Bailey nor I will bite you. Why so formal, Doc?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m not always. You yourself said I was too informal with the patients.”

“But not with your nurses.” She held the glasses for an instant, watching him, then smiled and pointed toward the refrigerator. “Ice would be a good idea, don’t you think? Why don’t you get it while I dig some Cokes out of the pantry?”

He came forward and took the glasses from her, feeling a bit like an alien in hostile territory. Since entering the house her spirit had unfurled like a blooming rose, while at the threshold his courage had begun to shrivel. Soon there’d be nothing left of him but a Cheshire cat smile…unless he got out of here. Fast.

“Don’t go to any trouble for me,” he called, looking toward the pantry into which she had disappeared. “I just remembered that I really need to go over some figures for a research study. I promised some colleagues out in California that I’d send my analysis—”

“Drat.” She stepped out of the pantry, wiping her hands on her shorts. From the concentrated look on her face he doubted she’d heard a word he’d said. “I thought I had some Cokes. Hold on a minute, will you, while I look outside in the garage?”

“Jacquelyn, I—”

She didn’t stop, but sprinted out the back, the screen door slamming behind her like an exclamation point. Sighing, Jonah moved toward the refrigerator and held the glasses to the ice dispenser. He was thirsty. Maybe he could stay a few minutes and then beat a quick retreat.

The screen door creaked and slammed again, and she stood in the kitchen, her face flushed. “I forgot! I don’t have any Coke, nothing with caffeine at all. But I’ve got Sprite and ginger ale.”

“Anything will do.” He placed the ice-filled glasses on the table. “I’d even take water, anything convenient.” And fast.

“Okay.” She moved to the pantry and pulled out a two-liter bottle of clear soda, then began to pour. In the silence, Jonah took a seat at her small table and looked around. He had expected his capable nurse’s kitchen to be spotless and efficient, but the room was more charming and homey than he would have imagined. Blue-and-white gingham curtains fluttered from the open windows, and the cheerful pattern was repeated on the seat cushions, place mats and even on dishes in the wooden plate rack. The decor reminded Jonah of his mother’s comfortable kitchen, a memory he resisted with all his might.

“Drinking healthy, are you?” he asked, searching for a way to make safe conversation. “Avoiding caffeine and all that?”

“Yes.” She lowered the soda bottle and waited for the bubbles to settle. One of her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “A few weeks ago I felt a cyst in my breast and decided to cut out caffeine and take vitamin E. You know, the standard deal.”

“Are you certain,” he said, watching her pour again, “the lump is a cyst? Did you have it aspirated?”

She flashed him a confident smile. “Now, Doctor, don’t start recruiting me as a patient. I’m twenty-eight years old and I don’t have breast cancer. I mean, what are the odds?”

He accepted the drink she offered and debated whether to continue or let the matter drop. “The odds?” He casually sipped from his glass. “Perhaps you should tell me. Have you ever borne a child?”

Her hand flew to her throat in an expression of mock horror. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”

He leaned forward. “I’m not joking, Jacquelyn. And you ask our patients questions like these all the time. You asked about the odds, so let’s figure them out. So tell me—have you ever given birth to a child?”

She sank into a chair opposite him and smiled in tolerant exasperation. “No.”

“Fine. Did you begin your menstrual periods before age twelve?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Good. Have you ever had an abortion?”

Her eyes narrowed and grew serious. “This is personal.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“You’re not my doctor.”

“Answer the question. An abortion before age eighteen increases a woman’s risk for breast cancer—so have you had an abortion?”

“No.”

“Fine.” He sank back in his chair. “So far, so good. Just one more thing—have you a female relative with breast cancer?”

A cold, hard-pinched expression settled on her face. “Yes.”

“Your mother?”

She nodded.

He inhaled a deep breath. “Was your mother’s breast cancer pre-or post-menopausal?”

“Pre. She died at thirty-six.” Jacquelyn’s voice fell to a whisper. “I was sixteen.”

A flicker of apprehension coursed through him. This was not terribly serious; women whose mothers developed pre-menopausal breast cancer in one breast stood only one and a half times the risk of the general population.

“Your mother’s cancer—” he forced himself to maintain his professional tone “—unilateral or bilateral?”

“Both breasts were involved,” she said, uncertainty creeping into her expression. “She had a double mastectomy, but too late. The cancer had spread into her bones. It was hopeless.”

Jonah’s hand clenched beneath the table. First-degree relatives of bilateral, pre-menopausal breast cancer patients were at a nine-fold risk of developing the same disease. And daughters of women with breast cancer tended to develop their cancer at younger ages than did their mothers.

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