It all begins with a kiss…

After tragedy brings her home to Louisiana, all Shayla Kirkland wants is to reconnect with her family. Between helping care for her nieces and running her recently opened coffee shop, there’s no time for romance. Until the workaholic entrepreneur meets Xavier Wright, the hunky E.R. doctor who has the local females waiting in line.

The sleepy town is the perfect transition place for Xavier to heal others while trying to mend his own heart. Falling for the owner of Gauthier’s hottest new hangout isn’t part of his short-term goals—even if the passion Shayla’s arousing in him is impossible to resist. But how will Xavier offer her forever, if he plans to leave as soon as his work is done?

For a moment, Shayla was struck speechless, entranced by the depth of his gaze and the enticing cadence of his rich voice

“I…I understand.” She slowly slid her fingers out of his hold. She couldn’t concentrate with him touching her. She took a couple of steps back and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, which were suddenly covered with goose bumps.

“Do you really, Shayla?”

“I do,” she said. “My coffeehouse happens to be one of the places where women plot to get into your E.R.” His brows rose again, and Shayla nodded. “I personally overheard the scheming, so I can understand why you’re suspicious. And I really do accept your apology.”

“Thank you.” His shoulders sank with genuine relief. “Now, will you go out to dinner with me or what?”

Shayla laughed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Would you believe that Xavier Persistence Wright is the name on my birth certificate?”

“No.”

“You’re right. It’s Alexander. But it should be Persistence. Keep that in mind, because I’m not giving up on that date.”

“Can we get back to the reason I am here?” Shayla asked.

He put his hand to his chest. “Forgive me. I forgot you didn’t come here simply because you couldn’t go another moment without seeing me. I need to rein in this wishful thinking.”

Shayla laughed. “You are impossible.”

“But handsome and charming, right?”

FARRAH ROCHON

had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.

When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

Forever’s Promise

Farrah Rochon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I know many of you adore books in series as much as I do, and you’ve probably learned to recognize when a secondary character in one story will eventually become the hero or heroine of his or her own story. While writing Yours Forever, the third book in the Bayou Dreams series, Shayla Kirkland stepped onto the scene as what I like to call a “filler” character. She was there for only a moment as the owner of Gauthier’s new coffee shop, and originally, that was supposed to be the extent of her role. Yet, in that one moment, I knew there was much more to Shayla. Even though she had only a brief cameo in Yours Forever, I learned that she had two adorable nieces and a recently deceased brother, who had been a member of the military. There was so much lurking there; I just had to explore this character.

Yes, Shayla Kirkland had a story to tell. I just didn’t realize how rich and intriguing her story was until I started writing it. I hope Shayla’s story of love, redemption and forgiveness touches you as much as it touched me. If you haven’t done so already, be sure to read the three previous stories in the Bayou Dreams series: A Forever Kind of Love, Always and Forever and Yours Forever.

As always, thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think about Forever’s Promise. Contact me on Facebook, Twitter or at Farrah@farrahrochon.com.

Happy reading,

Farrah Rochon

This one is for my fans! My heartfelt thanks to all of you

for the years of support.

“In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will

for you in Christ Jesus.”

—1 Thessalonians 5:18

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Shayla Kirkland swirled the cappuccino’s foamy topping into the shape of an apple before handing the mug to her former tenth-grade Free Enterprise teacher.

“Here you go, Mr. Peterson. One nonfat cappuccino with extra foam.”

“Well, look at that. Quite a fancy trick you’ve got there, Shayla,” he said, taking a sip as he cast an appraising glance around the spacious coffeehouse. “It’s nice to see that someone paid attention in class. We could use more homegrown businesses here in Gauthier.”

“Of course I paid attention. Your class was one of my favorites.”

“I’ll bet you tell that to all your old teachers.” He winked as he handed her a five-dollar bill.

Shayla dropped the change he waved off into the tip jar before wiping down the counter, then turned to the service window that led to the kitchen of The Jazzy Bean.

“Hey, Lucinda, are those salads ready?”

Lucinda Sullivan, who had been Shayla’s late mother’s best friend and had given Shayla her first sip of beer when she was twelve years old, placed two square salad bowls on the ledge of the little cutaway window.

When she’d made the spur-of-the-moment decision to open a coffeehouse in her hometown of Gauthier, Louisiana, Shayla hadn’t given much thought to her plan—wholly uncharacteristic for her usually methodical self. The one thing she did know was that she wanted to include a café. After much begging and shameless pleading, Lucinda had mercifully accepted the job as cook. Shayla knew coffee. Her other culinary skills left much to be desired.

“I changed Harold’s order to a grilled chicken salad instead of fried,” Lucinda told her.

“Good woman,” Shayla said.

She loaded the salads onto a tray, along with two glasses of sweet tea and mismatched cutlery she’d salvaged from the remnants of Armant’s Antique Shop, which had occupied this building on downtown Gauthier’s Main Street for decades before Shayla bought it.

As owner, her day was usually spent making sure the coffee shop was running smoothly, and maybe delivering the occasional order when things got busy during the lunch rush. But with two of her employees out sick today, Shayla found herself utilizing those skills she’d learned as a barista while putting herself through college.

She took the salads to the table where two of her regulars, Harold Porter and Nathan Robottom, sat engaged in a serious game of cards.

She placed their salads in front of them. “You gentlemen mind taking a short intermission?”

“Hey, what’s this?” Harold asked. “I ordered a fried chicken salad.”

Shayla crossed her arms and challenged him with her stare. She worked hard to keep a grin from emerging.

“Aw, c’mon,” Harold groused. “It’s bad enough you got me eating salads. Now I can’t even get it with the chicken cooked the way I like?”

“The grilled tastes even better than the fried,” Shayla said. “Trust me. If you don’t think so, your salad is on the house.”

Harold’s lips pinched in a frown and he muttered something unintelligible, but Shayla caught the telling crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“You’d better be happy you’re pretty,” he said. “I wouldn’t give up fried chicken for no ugly woman.”

She laughed, giving him a good-natured pat on the back before leaving the men to their meal.

When she’d settled on the concept for The Jazzy Bean she decided her coffeehouse would not contribute to the failing health of any patrons with known medical conditions. Harold was just one of several customers who suffered from high blood pressure. If he wanted to dine on oily, fatty, heart-attack-inducing food, he would have to go elsewhere.

Shayla came upon a table of teachers from the local high school. They routinely dropped in on Monday evenings for conversation and coffee.

“How’s it going, ladies? Is that car still giving you trouble, Denise?”

Denise Lewis, who graduated from Gauthier High with her brother, Braylon, waved off her concern. “My car is fine.” With a sly grin, she added, “Although I do feel a little tummy ache coming on. I think I need a trip to the emergency room.”

The table of women burst into laughter.

Shayla’s brow dipped in a curious frown as she eyed the boisterous crew. “Okay, what am I missing?”

“Oh, don’t mind her.” Bianca Charles, who’d served on the student council with her back when Shayla was in the tenth grade, motioned toward Denise. “She’s just trying to come up with a reason to see that fine new E.R. doctor over at Maplesville General.”

Denise flattened her palm against her chest. “I don’t need to fake being sick. I damn near have a heart attack whenever I see him.”

Shayla rolled her eyes. “Let me know if you ladies need anything else. More coffee, scones, CPR?”

They erupted in more laughter.

“I’ll take another cup of coffee,” Denise said, scooting off her stool and following Shayla to the counter.

“I’ll take one, too,” her best friend, Paxton Jones, called from the table she’d commandeered over in the corner.

“Still not talking to you,” Shayla said.

“Why aren’t you talking to Paxton?” Denise asked. “You two were joined at the hip in high school.”

“Because I took a job in Little Rock,” Paxton explained as she walked over to the counter and held out her coffee cup. “You’d think my dearest friend in the world would be happy for me.”

“Not gonna happen,” Shayla said, reluctantly refilling the mug with the medium roast she’d recently brewed.

Paxton took a sip before she said, “Someone here seems to forget that she left me first, and she went all the way to the West Coast. You didn’t see me getting all surly.”

“Big difference. I didn’t have a choice. I had a scholarship and then an internship that led to a job. This isn’t even a promotion for you. It’s a lateral move. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Paxton came around the counter and pinched her cheek. “I still love you, Shayla. Despite the fact that you’re acting like a big, curly-haired baby.”

She knew she was being a baby. Petty and selfish, too. But she’d learned of her best friend’s impending move only a few hours ago. Shayla figured she deserved at least another day to wallow and complain before congratulating her.

“You still coming over tonight?” Shayla asked.

“Can I take a rain check?” Paxton motioned to the table, scattered with spreadsheets and forms and other reminders of the hectic corporate lifestyle Shayla had once lived.

She tried to suppress the surge of envy that gripped her. That fast-paced, cutthroat world was no longer a part of her existence. The Jazzy Bean, her nieces—they were her life now.

“It’s probably better we meet tomorrow,” Shayla said. “My neighbor is babysitting for me. I need to pick the girls up and get them ready for bed.”

“When does Leslie get back?”

“Tomorrow night. She decided to stay an extra day in Houston to spend time with her extended family.”

“Good. It gives you more time with the girls,” Paxton said.

“Except I’ve had to spend all my extra time here in the coffee shop,” Shayla pointed out. “And you know I can use all the extra bonding time I can get, especially with Cassidy.”

Paxton frowned and patted Shayla’s arm. “It’ll get better. Just give it time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself,” Shayla said.

By the time Lucinda turned the Open sign to Closed, just after 6:00 p.m., Shayla was ready to dive headfirst into bed.

“Get out of here and get some rest,” Lucinda said. “I’ll close up.”

“If I had enough energy I would kiss you,” Shayla told her. She’d worked on the corporate side of the coffee business for so long she’d forgotten just how exhausting the day-to-day operations of a coffee shop could be.

The rest she so desperately craved would have to wait, because for the first time in nearly two decades, she was responsible for someone other than herself. After months of campaigning, she’d finally convinced her sister-in-law, Leslie, to leave her two nieces, eight-year-old Cassidy and three-year-old Kristi, in her care while Leslie attended her cousin’s wedding in Houston this past weekend.

Reconnecting with her family and getting to know her sister-in-law and nieces better was the chief impetus behind Shayla’s impulsive move back to Louisiana following her younger brother’s premature death. Over the past eight months, she had discovered that their frayed family fabric was not as easily mended as she’d hoped, especially when she’d played such a huge part in tearing said family fabric.

But things were slowly getting better. The fact that Leslie had entrusted Shayla with Kristi and Cassidy—even if it was just for four days—spoke volumes about how much their relationship had improved.

Shayla bade Lucinda good-night before leaving her to lock up. She headed left on Main Street’s newly refurbished brick-laid sidewalk—just one of the outcomes of the downtown area’s recent restoration projects. Her house, which she’d purchased in a package deal when she’d bought the building that housed The Jazzy Bean, was located in the residential neighborhood adjacent to Main Street.

On the short five-minute walk home, Shayla took in the sweet smell of the night jasmine that grew in the window boxes outside Lizzie’s Consignment Shop. The balmy summer night was so different from what she’d become accustomed to in the Pacific Northwest, but she embraced it.

It was strange—after living on the West Coast for nearly twenty years she’d anticipated bouts of homesickness after packing up her condo in Seattle, but they’d never materialized. Instead, Shayla had been overwhelmed by the sense of peace and belonging she’d experienced when she’d returned to Gauthier.

She’d lived in Seattle for much of her adult life, but this was home.

She walked past her house and went next door. Her neighbor Gayle Martin had offered to babysit her nieces so they wouldn’t be stuck in the back room at The Jazzy Bean after they got home from school today. Shayla had had every intention of meeting them at the bus stop and spending quality time with the girls, but her busy workday couldn’t be helped, not with both Erin, the college student she’d hired a couple of months ago, and her manager, Desiree, calling in sick.

She went around to the back door of Gayle’s wood-framed creole cottage, which was almost an exact replica of hers. The only difference was the color. Shayla had painted her house a deep brick-red and added stark-white shutters. It stood out from the white and pastel homes in the neighborhood.

She rapped twice on the door before going inside. “Knock, knock,” she called. “Anybody home?”

Gayle came into the kitchen, Shayla’s nieces trailing behind.

“Hey, Aunt Shayla,” Kristi greeted with an excited wave. Her hands were stained myriad colors.

“What happened here? Did a rainbow try to eat your fingers?” She playfully tugged Kristi’s ponytail.

“More like the Easter Bunny,” Gayle said. “We’ve been dyeing eggs.”

“Ah, that also explains the wardrobe change.” Shayla gestured to the oversize Jimi Hendrix T-shirts both girls wore.

“I didn’t want them staining their school uniforms, so I drafted a couple of my son’s old shirts.”

“Yikes. I hope they weren’t his favorites.”

Gayle gave a halfhearted shrug. “Serves him right for leaving them here. I’ve been telling him to come get his stuff for ten years.”

Gathering the girls’ backpacks and neatly folded school uniforms from the table, Shayla said, “Thanks again for watching them on such short notice.” She waved goodbye as she ushered the kids out the back door.

They were halfway across the yard when Gayle called to them. “Wait a minute.” She came over, carrying a slim cardboard package and a carton of eggs. “Here’s the second dye kit and the rest of the eggs. They’re already boiled. I told the girls that maybe you’d dye a few with them tonight.”

Shayla managed a weak smile, squelching a groan at Kristi’s excited expression. She was having a hard enough time handling basic child care; she could not pull off arts and crafts, especially after the day she’d endured.

“Maybe later.” Like when her sister-in-law came home tomorrow.

They continued across the side lawn between her house and Gayle’s. She made a mental note to call the high school kid she’d hired to cut her lawn. The clover patches were ankle-deep. Then again, maybe she should leave the grass uncut and hold an Easter-egg hunt for the girls. That should score her some points in the cool aunt department, right?

“So, did you two have fun?” Shayla asked.

Kristi’s ponytail bounced up and down with her enthusiastic head nod, but Cassidy barely responded.

Shayla curbed the sigh that nearly escaped. In the eight months since she’d returned to Gauthier her chief goal had been to form a relationship with her nieces. To her utter disappointment, things were not going as planned. Kristi had warmed up to her after the first time Shayla had taken them out for ice cream, but it would take far more than a double scoop of chocolate-chip-cookie dough to break down Cassidy’s walls.

Her reluctance had only prodded Shayla to try harder. She would win Cassidy over. She owed it to her baby brother to forge a relationship with the family he’d left behind.

Shayla suffered through the familiar ache that struck her chest whenever she thought about Braylon. She pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it out, willing the threatening tears to remain at bay. She knew better than to let her mind wander there, especially when she was so drained. She would not lose it in front of the girls.

Shayla unlocked the door to the quaint, two-bedroom cottage, which surprisingly suited her just as much as her condo in a high-rise building in downtown Seattle had. She let the girls enter ahead of her, then locked the door behind them.

“Aunt Shayla?”

She nearly stumbled at the sound of Cassidy’s soft voice. Another thing she could count on one hand was the number of times her eldest niece had addressed her directly.

Shayla walked over and ran a tentative hand along Cassidy’s bouncy curls that were so much like her own. “Yes, Cass?”

“Can we dye the rest of the eggs?”

Shayla’s shoulders fell. Why, of all things, did she have to ask that?

“Oh, honey, I’ve been up since 4:00 a.m. I’m too tired to dye eggs right now.” She lifted a curl. “I’ll tell you what. If you and your sister watch one of your DVDs while I take a nap, we’ll dye the eggs a bit later. Is that okay?”

Cassidy nodded, but Shayla caught the disappointment in her eyes.

Great. The one time her niece asks for something, and she comes off feeling like the auntie from hell. But if she tried dyeing Easter eggs right now they would all end up looking like Kristi’s fingers.

She allowed the girls to pick a movie out of the collection of DVDs her sister-in-law had left for them. Once they were both settled on the rug in front of the television, she went into her bedroom, kicked off her tennis shoes, and crashed face-first on top of the still-made bed.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard a faint voice call, “Aunt Shayla?”

She stirred, turning over and curling into a fetal position.

“Aunt Shayla, something’s wrong with Kristi.”

“What is it, baby?” she murmured.

“Kristi’s sick. She’s throwing up. And it looks...funny.”

Shayla blinked. Cassidy’s words registered and she jerked up, hopping off the bed.

“Where is she?”

Cassidy pointed. “In the bathroom.”

Shayla ran to the bathroom, her heart jumping to her throat when she came upon her three-year-old niece. Kristi’s shirt and the bathroom floor were covered in yellowish-orange vomit, and she was coughing, her thin frame jerking in violent fits and spurts.

“Oh, my God! What happened?”

Cassidy hunched her shoulders, her bottom lip trembling.

Was that bile? Was Kristi throwing up buckets of bile?

Oh, God.

She finally got the chance to look after the girls, and this happened? She’d be lucky if Leslie let her anywhere near them again.

She scooped Kristi into her arms and called for Cassidy over her shoulder. “Come on, Cass. Let’s get her to the doctor.”

Not wanting to waste time searching for tennis shoes, she slipped her feet into the slippers she’d left in the bathroom and grabbed her purse and car keys from the kitchen table where she’d dropped them earlier.

She suddenly remembered the medical authorization letter Leslie had given her before she’d left for Houston late Friday evening, just in case something happened. Not once did Shayla anticipate actually using it.

She snatched the letter from where she’d tacked it to the refrigerator, next to the list of emergency numbers Leslie had also insisted Shayla have at the ready. She considered calling her sister-in-law, but what would she tell her? She didn’t even know what was going on yet. She needed to get Kristi to the hospital ASAP. Then she’d call Leslie.

Gauthier didn’t have a hospital. In fact, the town had only recently acquired a health clinic that was staffed by volunteer doctors and nurses a couple of days a week. Thankfully, Maplesville, which was only twenty minutes away—fifteen if she didn’t hear any beeps on the police radar detector mounted to her dashboard—had a small hospital.

Shayla strapped Kristi into her booster seat and told Cassidy to buckle her seatbelt. Once she was behind the wheel, she maneuvered the rearview mirror so that she could see her nieces.

“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay,” Shayla assured them.

God, she hoped she was right.

* * *

“Do you feel any tenderness or pain when I press here?” Xavier Wright asked the twentysomething who’d walked into the E.R. with complaints of stomach pains.

“Not really,” she said. “Maybe a little higher.”

He gently pressed along her rib cage. “Here?”

“Just a little higher,” she said, adding a seductive purr to her voice.

Xavier bit back a curse. His teeth gritted as he backed away from the exam table. He didn’t have time to perform a breast exam, even though he knew that’s exactly what his latest “patient” had in mind.

“I don’t think this is appendicitis,” he said. “You may want to try a laxative.”

Her forehead scrunched as she frowned. Yeah, mentioning laxatives was always a good way to zap the sexy out of any conversation.

Xavier made a couple of notations in the patient’s electronic chart. “I’ll send a nurse in to discuss some over-the-counter medications that may help.”

“Don’t bother,” she said with a pout.

“It’s up to you whether or not you heed my medical advice,” he said, disregarding her disgruntled huff. He had zero tolerance for this kind of nonsense today.

As he backed out of the exam room, he spotted his favorite RN, Patricia Reyes, exiting the room across the hallway. She gestured to the room he’d just escaped from. “You figure out what was bothering that hot little thing in there?”

“According to her, it’s stomach pains,” Xavier answered.

“Yeah, right. I think she’s suffering from Horny Woman Syndrome. It’s been going around since a certain doctor pulled into town.”

Xavier pitched his head back and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I swear I’m not doing anything to encourage them.”

“You don’t have to, darling. You’re young, single, handsome and a doctor. You’re like a virus that every desperate woman within a twenty-mile radius wants to catch.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

Patricia’s laughter followed him as he made his way to the small employees’ lounge and poured himself a cup of six-hour-old coffee. He didn’t bother with sugar or cream; this was purely for survival. He’d pulled a double shift and was dead on his feet.

The door opened and Bruce Saunders, who was currently one of only two permanent E.R. physicians at Maplesville General, walked in.

“How’s it going?” Bruce asked. “I heard you had another female patient with a mysterious ailment who refused to see any doctor but Dr. Wright.”

Xavier held his hands out, exasperation weighing his shoulders down. “In the month that I’ve been here I swear that’s the tenth woman who’s managed to get past triage with some trumped-up illness.”

“This place hasn’t been this busy in a while.” Bruce chuckled, pouring himself a cup of the stale coffee. “At least some good has come from it. Yesterday, Patricia discovered that Etta Mae Watson had a staph infection on the back of her leg that she knew nothing about. Chasing after you probably saved her life.”

The door opened again, and another of the nurses said, “We have two patients waiting. A vomiting three-year-old and Jackson Pritchard with chest pains.”

“I’ll take Mr. Pritchard,” Bruce said. “I had to crack his chest open a couple of years ago.”

“He’s behind trauma curtain three. Dr. Wright, I put the three-year-old in the private exam room.”

Xavier downed the rest of his lukewarm coffee in one gulp and headed out of the lounge. At least he didn’t have to worry about a three-year-old faking an illness in hopes of being seen by the shiny new doctor.

He punched the number the nurse gave him into his electronic tablet and pulled up the patient’s chart before entering the room. The younger of two little girls was seated on the exam table. Her mother stood to the left of her, rubbing a soothing hand along the little girl’s back. One side of her shirt was streaked with a yellowish substance.

“What do we have here?” Xavier asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her,” the mom said. The slight tremble in her voice betrayed the anxiety she was likely trying to hide for the sake of her daughters.

Xavier waited for her to catch his gaze. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’ll take care of her.”

The mother nodded, though her eyes teemed with distress.

“Let’s have a look.” He leaned the child back on the table and lightly pressed her stomach. Her face contorted and she sat up straight. Xavier backed away just in time. She unloaded brilliant yellow vomit all over the floor and her hospital gown.

“There she goes again,” the older girl said.

“How many times has she vomited?” Xavier asked the mother as he grabbed a clean hospital gown from a small closet and ripped off the plastic. He lifted the soiled gown and draped the fresh one over the girl.

“I’m not sure,” the mother said.

She looked to the older child, who said in a soft voice, “Three times, I think.”

“So this would make four,” the mother said. “No, five. Someone needs to clean the parking lot outside.”

Xavier sent her a reassuring smile. “I’ll let maintenance know.”

“Is it bile?” the mother asked. “She’s vomiting bile, isn’t she?”

“Nah, it’s not bile,” Xavier said. He dipped his head, bringing it to eye level with the toddler. “What I want to know is why is it such a pretty color? Have you been eating candy?”

The little girl shook her head.

“You sure?” Xavier asked.

“I promise,” she said in a thready whisper.

The mother plopped a hand on her forehead. “Oh, God. I know what it is.” She looked to the older girl. “Did you two try dyeing eggs?” The question was met with complete silence. “Cassidy, I told you to wait until I woke from my nap.” She turned his attention to him. “I should have suspected this from the start.”

Xavier’s bullshit meter started to buzz. He wasn’t the world’s greatest parenting expert, but this seemed sketchy. What mother would leave two young children unsupervised with egg-dyeing materials in plain view?

“Were you using regular food coloring, or was it one of those egg-dyeing kits?” Xavier asked the mother.

“It’s a kit.”

“It’s probably nontoxic, but you’ll need to check the packaging just to make sure.” He stooped to the little girl’s eye level. “I’m going to get Nurse Patricia to give you some medicine. It will make you throw up again, but then I promise you’ll feel a lot better.”

The mother’s shoulders wilted in relief. She ran a hand along the little girl’s arm.

Xavier had not seen a phonier display of concern since he arrived in Maplesville. It pissed him off, because she’d had him going there for a moment with her fearful, worried act.

He straightened back to his full height and addressed the mother. “Mom, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

A moment’s confusion flashed across her face before she shook her head and said, “I’m Kristi’s aunt, not her mom.”

Even worse. Using her niece.

“The hallway?” Xavier repeated, motioning to the door. “Wait here one minute,” he said once they’d exited the room. He went over to the nurse’s station and relayed orders to Patricia, then gestured for the aunt to follow him to the small alcove that housed the vending machines and a water fountain.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the E.R.’s occupants, he turned and said, “The only reason I’m not calling child protective services is because your niece will be fine once the ipecac makes her throw up the rest of the dye she ingested, but pull something like this again and I’ll have CPS out here before you can blink.”

The woman’s head reared back. “Excuse me?”

“Feeding a three-year-old dye?”

Her eyes grew wide. “You think I gave her the dye?”

“Don’t even try it.” Xavier crossed his arms over his chest, a disdainful sneer on his lips. “The women in this town have done some outrageous things to get into my E.R., but you came very close to crossing a line.”

Her expression morphed from shock to rage.

“Are you serious? You think I tried to poison my own niece just to meet you?” She waved her hands down the front of her body. “Do I look like I’m on the prowl for a damn man?”

Xavier took a moment to study her appearance, from her hair, that looked as if she had just gotten out of bed, to the vomit-covered T-shirt and Minnie Mouse house slippers on her feet. She hadn’t bothered with fancy clothes and the full makeup routine as the other women who’d come here trying to hit on him. She looked like someone who’d grabbed a sick child and hauled ass to the E.R.

Her beautiful dark brown eyes became murderous as she stepped up to him.

“Look, you egotistical asshole. I can’t speak for the other women in this town, but let me make one thing clear. Meeting you was the last thing on my mind when I stepped into this E.R. I didn’t even know you would be in this E.R. Do you really think I would endanger my own niece on the off chance that you might be working today?”

Her chest rose and fell with the sharp breaths she sucked in following her fiery tirade. Rage had her nostrils flaring, those brown eyes intense and full of fury.

It was a magnificent sight to behold.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, “but you are not all that, Dr. Wright. Not even close.”

She looked him up and down, as if he was a nasty wad of gum she’d found stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“I’m sorry,” Xavier started. “I—”

She put her hand up. “Save it. And do not follow me back to that exam room. I don’t want you anywhere near my niece.”

Xavier tried to speak, but found himself at a loss for words as he watched her stomp back to the exam room.

He also found himself slightly aroused.

The realization came as such a shock that, for a moment, it left him paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare at the faux-wood exam room door that had just shut behind her. He should be appalled by his body’s reaction.

Instead, Xavier briefly closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling.

It had been so damn long since he’d felt anything. He needed to savor this. He wanted to remember it when he was sitting at home, alone, trying to recall what it felt like to have that kind of passion flowing through his veins.

Chapter 2

Shayla pulled her Volvo coupe under the detached aluminum carport next to her side kitchen door, but she didn’t move. Instead, she let the engine idle as she continued to grip the steering wheel with both hands. There had been utter silence throughout the entire twenty-minute drive from the hospital in Maplesville. She’d spent most of the ride sending up prayers of thanks that Kristi’s condition had turned out to be nothing serious.

She’d spent the remainder of the ride trying to quell her rage over that cocky E.R. doctor and the ridiculous conclusion he’d jumped to. As if she would ever do something so desperate.

Her annoyance only grew when she realized he must be the new doctor all the teachers were foaming at the mouth over at The Jazzy Bean earlier that day. No wonder Mr. Conceited had made such an outrageous assumption. After the talk she’d overheard at the coffeehouse, she wouldn’t put it past some of the women to go to such lengths.

Shayla didn’t care how gorgeous he was—and, don’t get her wrong, he was gorgeous—but she would never put her niece in danger just to score an introduction. She may have been thunderstruck by those whiskey-brown eyes the moment he’d stepped into the exam room, but she wasn’t that desperate.

After she’d put the cocky doctor in his place, they’d remained at the hospital for another half hour, until Kristi had vomited twice more. The nurse had given her fluids to guard against dehydration and sent them home with instructions to give her Gatorade and keep the egg dye out of children’s reach.

Someone shouldn’t have had to tell her that. It should have been a given. As excited as they were about dyeing the eggs, she should have known the girls would do something like this.

But, then again, what did she know about kids?

“You are so in over your head,” she muttered. Shayla released a deep, tired breath as she cut the engine and opened the door.

She went to the back passenger side and unstrapped a sleeping Kristi from her car seat. Hefting the toddler into her arms, Shayla whispered to Cassidy, “Let’s get in the house.”

She recoiled at the thought of having to reprimand her niece, but Shayla knew it had to be done. She’d given specific instructions that the dye was not to be touched until she woke up. It was bad enough that they’d disobeyed, but being the eldest, Cassidy should have known better than to allow her little sister to put the dye anywhere near her mouth.

Of course, the ultimate responsibility fell to her. She was the adult in charge. It didn’t matter that she was tired enough to fall asleep this very second; she should have been paying attention to the girls, not napping.

Shayla carried Kristi into the guest bedroom and undressed her, taking care not to wake her. She used a warm washcloth to wipe her down, then took a page from Gayle’s book and dressed her in the old, worn USC Trojans T-shirt she’d had since freshman year. Other than a little squirming, Kristi hardly moved. The poor baby was exhausted. Shayla could sympathize.

When she returned to the kitchen, Cassidy was sitting at the table, picking at the bright blue fingernail polish she’d painted on this past Saturday during their pamper party—another of Shayla’s attempts to connect with her nieces. Only the light above the stove illuminated the room.

“Do you want some juice?” Shayla asked, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of cranberry juice from the refrigerator. Cassidy shook her head, but Shayla filled the glass halfway and set it in front of her, anyway.

She took the chair opposite her niece, placed both elbows on the table and massaged her temples. She wasn’t even sure how to begin this conversation.

Since she’d returned to Gauthier with some half-formed idea to help her sister-in-law raise her nieces, she could count on her fingers the number of times Cassidy had spoken to her without considerable prompting. Over the past three days, she’d opened up several times, even joining Shayla and Kristi in an impromptu karaoke concert Saturday night. Shayla didn’t want to hinder the small bit of progress she’d made with Cassidy by coming down on her with a heavy lecture.

But she couldn’t allow what had happened tonight to just slide. She wasn’t here to make friends with an eight-year-old; she was here to help raise her. Disciplinarian was part of the job description.

“Cass, didn’t I tell you that we would dye the eggs later?” Shayla started.

Pulling her trembling bottom lip between her teeth, Cassidy nodded.

“Your sister could have been seriously hurt if those dyes were toxic. You know better than to put them in your mouth, but Kristi doesn’t. This could have been very, very bad, Cassidy.”

Dread cascaded down Shayla’s spine just thinking about what could have happened. Goodness, how did parents do this 24/7 for eighteen years? It had been just over three days and she was ready to climb the walls.

“Promise me you won’t disobey in the future,” Shayla said.

“I promise,” Cassidy mumbled. The dour frown on her face told Shayla that the little headway she’d made in softening Cass’s feelings toward her had just evaporated. Great.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed,” Shayla said. “You have school tomorrow, and it’s already past your bedtime.”

Cass remained stoic as she rose and lumbered down the narrow hallway toward the bedrooms. Shayla remained at the kitchen table, sipping her cranberry juice and trying to talk herself out of adding vodka to the glass. She’d messed up once already tonight. She knew better than to render herself completely incapacitated by drinking alcohol while the girls were still under her watch.

She set the glass on the table and covered her face with both hands.

“What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

She had never been the type to make rash decisions. Her careful, methodical thinking had taken her from being a lowly junior marketing assistant to the executive director of community relations at one of the country’s largest coffeehouse chains. Yet she’d succumbed to the impulsive decision to return to her hometown, turning her once well-ordered life completely upside down. What on earth had possessed her to do that?

“You know exactly what brought you back here,” Shayla whispered before downing the last of her juice in one gulp.

Guilt.

Suffocating, unrelenting, soul-crushing guilt. And if leaving her previous life behind so she could do right by her brother’s family was the only way to assuage that smothering guilt, then so be it.

Shayla set the juice glasses in the sink, made sure the back door was locked and went in to check on the girls. Kristi was still sound asleep. Cassidy was in bed, reading an R. L. Stein Goosebumps book.

A smile drew across Shayla’s lips. Like father, like daughter. Braylon had kept stacks of Bobbsey Twins mystery paperbacks next to his bed when he was younger.

Why did you leave these two babies?

How she wished she could ask him that question face-to-face.

It took some effort to swallow past the lump that instantly formed in her throat. Once she was able to clear it, she said, “Ten more minutes, okay, Cass?” The girl nodded. “Good night. I love you, honey.”

Cassidy didn’t respond.

Shayla’s eyes closed briefly in defeat before she pulled the door, leaving a five-inch gap. She went into her bedroom and barely managed to change into her own old, comfortable T-shirt before falling onto the bed and into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Shayla was nearly a half hour late making it to The Jazzy Bean. Unlike yesterday, Gayle had not been there to help get Kristi and Cass off to school. She’d enjoyed her first weekend alone with the girls, but she would probably weep in relief when Leslie picked them up tonight.

It was no surprise that Lucinda had everything running like a well-oiled machine by the time Shayla arrived at The Jazzy Bean. And, thank God, Erin was back behind the counter.

“I am so happy to see you,” Shayla told her, giving her a brief hug. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to run the front end of a coffeehouse on my own.”

“I probably could have come in yesterday afternoon, but I wanted to make sure I was completely over the virus before I returned to work.”

“Good girl,” Shayla said. “Spoken like a future pediatrician.”

“I talked to Desiree this morning. She’s still in the don’t-stray-too-far-from-the-bathroom phase.” Erin grimaced. “Believe me, you don’t want her here.”

“Lucinda and I did okay yesterday. We can handle it now that you’re back,” Shayla said.

Despite wanting to run from the building screaming during yesterday’s lunchtime rush, for the most part she’d enjoyed being back in the thick of things. She wasn’t about to give up Erin and Desiree—not by a long shot—but at the end of the day Shayla had felt a sense of accomplishment she hadn’t experienced since her early days with her old company, when she was still climbing her way up the bottom rungs of the ladder.

The morning crowd mostly consisted of regulars, with a smattering of unknown faces that stopped in on their way to the site of the new concrete plant being built just off Highway 190 a few towns over. One of the contractors had stumbled upon The Jazzy Bean a few weeks ago and bought coffee for the rest of his crew. It had become a ritual. Someone came in at least three days a week, ordering one of the carryout cartons that held a gallon of coffee.

That thought brought up another one.

Shayla looked over from where she was adding bagels to the tray inside the display case. “Hey, Erin, will you be able to deliver coffee to the clinic this morning?”

“Not unless you want to make the drinks,” Erin called over the noise of the coffee grinder.

“I don’t think so,” Shayla said. Yesterday had exposed her limits. Although she still had some skills behind the espresso machine, when it came to barista duties, Erin was far superior.

She was really missing Desiree right about now. Her manager was the one who usually slipped out during the slow period to bring coffee to the health clinic.

Since its doors opened about two months before, The Jazzy Bean had provided free coffee and breakfast pastries to the doctors and nurses who volunteered at the clinic that had been the brainchild of local attorney turned state senator, Matthew Gauthier. Matt had recently won his position in a special election and, in a surprise to no one, had quickly set out to improve life in Gauthier.

Residents could receive health screenings and checkups for a nominal fee, which Shayla learned was code for “whatever folks could afford to pay.” The supplies were bought using donations, and the medical professionals donated their time. Shayla figured providing a light breakfast was the very least she could do.

She filled a travel carton with today’s dark roast and prepared a large cup with decaf for the one nurse who didn’t drink regular. She grabbed a plastic tray and loaded it with the oatmeal, cranberry and flaxseed breakfast bars she ordered from the organic bakery in New Orleans that supplied her healthier pastries. She was still having a hard time convincing customers to try the heart-healthy food selections, but Shayla claimed a small victory every time someone got on board.

The clinic was an easy walk, only a couple of blocks down, in a single-story bungalow on Cooper Lane once owned by Matt Gauthier’s family.

She walked up the front steps and encountered Tanya Miller exiting the clinic. Tanya had lived directly across the street from the house Shayla had grown up in, where Leslie now lived with the girls. She was accompanied by a teenager who looked as if he’d come out on the losing end of a battle with the flu.

“Hey there, Shayla,” Tanya said, holding the door open for her. “I was just on my way to your place to get some soup. I hope Lucinda has chicken noodle on the menu today.”

“Chicken and rice.”

“Close enough,” Tanya said. “Maybe I’ll be able to get this one to eat something.”

“Good luck with that,” Shayla said, eyeing the boy. She entered the clinic and called out a hello to the half-dozen people seated in folding chairs in the lobby.

“Shayla! How are you?” Shayla turned to find Malinda Donaldson walking toward her. Malinda was once a friendly rival on the Maplesville Mustangs’ Quiz Bowl team. The Gauthier High Lions had never lost a single match to them throughout Shayla’s high school career. Yes, she had been a nerd. And she was damn proud of it, too.

“Hi there, Malinda. I didn’t know you were back in Maplesville. You were somewhere in Texas, right?”

“Yep. Dallas. Moved there after Hurricane Katrina. My oldest just started at LSU so I decided to move back home. It was time.”

Shayla nodded. “Eventually I guess we all come back home.”

Malinda put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I was so sorry to hear about Braylon,” she said, her voice taking on that somber tone that usually accompanied any conversation surrounding Shayla’s brother.

“Thank you. It hasn’t been easy.” She held up the coffee and pastries. “Where can I put these? Desiree usually delivers the goodies, but she’s out sick.”

“We have a break room back here. Thanks for providing the coffee, by the way,” she called over her shoulder. “It means a lot.”

“It’s the very least I can do. The time you all volunteer at this place has been such a blessing for Gauthier’s residents.”

She followed Malinda into the break room and came face-to-face with the E.R. doctor from last night.

“Oh, great.” Shayla snorted. She moved past him, setting the coffee and pastries on the square card table in the middle of the room. Then she turned around and addressed him. “Before that huge head of yours gets any bigger, know that I had no idea you would be here. This isn’t some ploy to put me in your illustrious presence once again.”

“I’m sorry about—”

She put both hands up. “I’m not interested in your apology.”

“Is there a problem?” Malinda asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Oh, I just don’t want God’s gift to women over here thinking I’m going to attack him in a fit of passion.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and slanted her a sardonic look. It goaded her that the egotistical bastard had the nerve to have such gorgeous eyes—eyes that were currently roaming over her with enough cynicism to choke a small animal.

“You done being self-righteous?” he asked.

“Not sure yet. Are you done accusing me of trying to commit child murder?”

Those striking eyes narrowed with irritation. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion? And I apologize for what happened at the hospital last night.”

“No, I don’t think I’m blowing this out of proportion, and your apology is not accepted.”

She brushed past him on her way out of the break room. He followed. So did Malinda, who seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, if the smile on her face was any indication.

“How is your niece doing?” he called after her.

“She’s just fine. And if it’ll put your mind at ease, know that I didn’t try to poison her today.”

She reached for the front door, but he stopped her, clamping a hand on her right shoulder. Shayla peered down at his hand, then looked up at him. “Remove it. Now,” she ordered.

“Would you let me explain about last night?”

“Remove. It. Now.”

He heaved a sigh and let go of her shoulder.

To Malinda, she said, “We need to catch up. Maybe we can have dinner? Or, better yet, come on over to The Jazzy Bean for lunch one day.”

“Will do,” Malinda said, amusement tracking across her face as she glanced over at Dr. Gorgeous Eyes.

Shayla refused to give him an ounce more of her attention. Without another word she turned and walked out the clinic’s front door.

* * *

“So, you aren’t married?”

“No, I’m not,” Xavier answered. “Take a deep breath for me.” He pressed the flat end of the stethoscope to Penelope Robottom’s back.

“Divorced?”

“Nope. Another deep breath,” he instructed.

Mrs. Robottom complied, but as soon as he removed the stethoscope, she continued on her fact-finding mission. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Mrs. Robottom, I don’t think—”

“My daughter, Tabitha, is in the middle of a divorce right now. I never liked her husband. I would love for her to find someone sweet and successful, like you.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but—”

She cut him off again. “Maybe the two of you can go out to dinner?”

Xavier’s eyelids slid shut for a brief moment as he made notations on Mrs. Robottom’s chart. He just didn’t get it. Sure, he’d encountered his share of women whose eyes lit up at the sight of a white doctor’s coat and no wedding ring, but this bordered on ridiculous.

How ironic that the only woman who had piqued his interest in the month since he’d come to Louisiana had looked as if she was ready to run him over with her car when she left after dropping off the coffee a few hours ago. Could he really blame her? After what he’d accused her of, he’d be lucky if Shayla Kirkland didn’t report him to hospital administration.

He needed to smooth things over with her. Now that he knew she was the owner of the little coffee shop down the street, he at least knew where to find her.

“It sounds as if your lungs are clearing up nicely,” Xavier told Mrs. Robottom. “But make sure you finish the round of antibiotics. Don’t stop just because you’re feeling better. If you notice any problems, come out to the hospital in Maplesville. Don’t wait until we’re back at the clinic here in Gauthier.”

“I will, Dr. Wright. I’ll see if Tabitha can bring me.”

“Only come if there is a problem,” Xavier reminded her. He had no doubt she’d be in the E.R. with her not-quite-divorced daughter by midweek.

He saw Mrs. Robottom to the lobby and turned the Open sign on the door to Closed once she and her husband, Nathan, had left the clinic.

“Good work today,” Bruce said, coming up the hallway. He gestured to the lobby’s collection of mismatched chairs. “How about a short debriefing? It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

He, Malinda and Bruce, along with another RN and a nursing assistant, discussed the cases they’d seen that day. They all agreed that Gauthier was on the verge of a chicken pox outbreak. Four children under the age of twelve had been brought in with symptoms just that day.

Xavier was also concerned with the number of cases of diabetes. This was only his third week of volunteering at the clinic, which was opened three days a week for the residents of Gauthier, yet he’d seen at least a dozen cases of pre-and full-blown diabetes. In a town this size, that was reaching epidemic levels.

They discussed possibly extending the hours, or opening for a half day on Saturdays so that people who worked and couldn’t make it to the clinic on a weekday could have access.

“Maybe we can start with every other Saturday to try it out,” Malinda suggested.

“I’m up for that,” Xavier said. It wasn’t as if he had a social life getting in the way of his work. One of the pitfalls of working these temporary assignments was that it made establishing a life outside of work practically impossible.

Of course, that had been the number one reason he’d joined Good Doctors, Good Deeds, an organization that helped to staff hospitals in underserved communities by providing temporary physicians who agreed to work for significantly lower salaries. Money wasn’t an issue for him—getting away from his hometown of Atlanta had been. Which was why he was on his third consecutive assignment with Good Doctors, Good Deeds.

“Okay, folks, that about does it,” Bruce said. “Don’t forget the barbecue at my place Friday. Xavier, you’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yep, then I switch to the graveyard shift.”

“Don’t worry,” Malinda said. “It’s the easiest of the three. Unlike in the big cities, things are quiet overnight around here.”

“My last few assignments have been in rural communities. I’m just fine with the slower pace.”

They all gave each other proverbial pats on the back for a job well done before closing down the clinic. Xavier followed Malinda into the employee break room and grabbed his backpack, then they both headed for the back door entrance that led to a small, graveled parking lot behind the clinic.

“Sooo,” Malinda said, dragging out the word as she held the door open for him. “Those were some serious sparks of attraction I saw flying between you and Shayla today.”

Xavier huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

“Seemed pretty electric to me.”

“I’m sure if she could have gotten away with it she would have scalded me with that hot coffee this morning.” He unlocked his Jeep, but didn’t get in. Leaning against the door, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his green scrubs, and said, “She came into the E.R. last night with her niece, who’d gotten into the Easter egg dye.”

“And?”

“And.” Xavier scratched the back of his head. “Well, I may have accused her of purposely feeding the child the dye so that she would have a reason to take her to the E.R. And, you know, meet me.”

A look of horror flashed across Malinda’s face.

“I know. I know,” Xavier said. “It’s just that the women around here have gone to so many ridiculous lengths to visit my E.R.” He pointed to the clinic. “Just today Mrs. Robottom was hinting at hooking me up with her daughter, who is still married, by the way.”

Malinda waved him off. “Tabitha and Lenny have been separated for longer than they’ve been married. It’s about time they finally went through with the divorce. But Tabitha isn’t right for you. You’d do better with someone without so much baggage. Shayla is actually perfect. She’s single, the right age and successful in her own right.”

“I’m not looking to get involved with anyone,” Xavier said. “My assignment in Maplesville is for only three months. Between the hospital and volunteering at the clinic, I don’t have time to catch the Braves games on TV, let alone date. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Malinda shook her head as she unlocked her car door. “It would drive me crazy moving from one hospital to another. You have to learn all new hospital politics, and you’re always at the bottom of the totem pole.” She stopped. “Oh, wait. You’re an E.R. doctor. You’re used to being at the bottom of the totem pole.”

Xavier grinned at her good-natured barb, even though it stung way more than Malinda probably intended. The fact that he hadn’t gone into one of the sexier specialties had triggered the beginning of the demise of his relationship with his ex-fiancée, Nicole. She’d found herself a cardiothoracic surgeon and quickly suckered him into putting a ring on her finger.

Xavier scrubbed his mind of the image of the wedding photo he’d seen in the society pages of the Atlanta newspaper, Nicole’s orthodontics-enhanced smile staring back at him. He wasn’t putting himself through that today.

“I hope your conflict with Shayla doesn’t jeopardize our goodies,” Malinda said through her open driver’s-side window. “I’d hate to hurt your feelings when I choose coffee over you.”

He chuckled. “I’d do the same if given the choice.”

He tapped the roof of her car as she drove off.

Xavier set his backpack behind the seat and climbed into his Jeep Wrangler. As he came upon the intersection of Cooper Lane and Main Street, he spotted the sign for The Jazzy Bean about two blocks down. It featured a cartoon coffee bean playing a saxophone.

Ignoring the exhaustion that had him on the verge of collapse, he pulled into an empty parking slot in front of Claudette’s Beauty Parlor, locked the door—though it was hardly necessary in this small town—and a minute later walked through the front door of The Jazzy Bean.

The place was huge—much bigger than the average chain coffeehouse. Yet, despite its size, it still had a cozy feel. The polished concrete floors were stained a warm brown with hints of orange. A dozen small round table-and-chair sets occupied most of the space. A long, narrow bar lined with several stools ran the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced Main Street.

Xavier stepped in a bit farther and noticed a stone-laid fireplace surrounded by several large wooden rocking chairs toward the rear of the coffeehouse. There was also a burnt-orange leather couch with two huge armchairs and a square ottoman. Several of the tables held chessboards, and a few had decks of cards. Framed black-and-white photographs of brass instruments, swampland scenes and coffee beans adorned brick walls. Despite the deep earth tones, the place was well lit with recessed lights and track lighting throughout.

“Nice,” Xavier murmured. “Damn nice.” It was much more than he’d expected to find in a small town like Gauthier.

He looked around, hoping to spot the person he’d come here for, but Shayla was nowhere to be found.

He walked over to a corkboard affixed to the wall, careful not to bump the table that had all the fixings for coffee—creamer, sugar, artificial sweeteners, honey and stirrers. Tacked to the corkboard were signs for various happenings in and around Gauthier. The civic association was sponsoring an Easter-egg hunt in Heritage Park. The local high school’s 4-H Club was having a bake sale and car wash. There were Zumba classes right here at The Jazzy Bean on Tuesday and Thursday nights.

“Dr. Wright?”

Xavier turned. He pointed to the young lady who’d come into the E.R. over the weekend. “Erin, right?”

She nodded. “You remembered.”

“Sure. How are you feeling?”

“Much better. You were right. It was just a stomach virus. Combined with the lack of sleep, it just wore me out.”

“You mentioned the other day that you’re premed. Sorry to break it to you, but the lack of sleep will only get worse.”

She grimaced. “I’ve been told.”

“Don’t tell me you work here, too, in addition to going to school?”

“Only part-time,” she said. “But that’s about to change. I’m getting an apartment in New Orleans before the start of my next semester.”

“And I will be very sorry to see her go.”

Xavier turned to find Shayla sauntering up to them, her delicately flared hips swaying in a way that caused his skin to prickle with the same electricity that had jolted him last night in the E.R. Tied around her waist was an apron featuring the saxophone-playing coffee bean that was on the sign outside.

“Hello again,” Xavier greeted.

“Hello,” she said. Her tone lacked the sharpness that had colored it earlier today. That had to be a good sign, right?

She pointed at Erin. “You’ve got a paper due, which means you need to get out of here. Lucinda and I will close up.”

Erin’s relief was evident in her smile. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shayla turned back to him. “Sorry to kick you out, but we’re closing in five minutes.”

He pointed to the flyer tacked to the community board. “Says here that Zumba class starts at 6:30 p.m.”

“You’re here for Zumba?”

Her skeptical expression wrangled a laugh out of him. “Maybe,” Xavier answered.

“Hey, Shayla, would you tell this old woman to get me my apple fritter so I can leave?” They both turned at the sound of the gravelly voice calling from the counter.

“No fritters for you, Mr. Henry,” Shayla said. “Imogen told me your cholesterol was up last week.”

The older gentleman grunted and paid for the bran muffin.

“Sacrificing a sale for the well-being of your customer?” Xavier asked. “He could have just taken his business elsewhere.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Doctor, when it comes to coffee and baked goods, I’m the only game in town. And I’m not willing to contribute to the rising health problems here in Gauthier just to make a few bucks.”

“That’s pretty noble of you.”

“But not completely altruistic. The longer I can keep them alive, the longer I can have them as customers,” she said, sending him a sassy wink. “I am a businesswoman, after all.”

He laughed. “I need to adopt that motto. It works in my line of business, too.” He followed her over to the tables and chairs and watched as she began wiping down the tabletops.

She looked up at him. “You’re still here?”

He nodded. “And I will be until you accept my apology.”

“Going to be a long, lonely night in this coffee shop for you. And if I find any inventory missing in the morning, I’m charging you for it.”

“Why are you giving me such a hard time?”

“Because you accused me of jeopardizing my niece’s health as a ploy to meet you. You’d better be grateful I haven’t punched you in the gut. That was my first instinct.”

“I am begging you to accept my apology for that. It was out of line, and I truly am sorry.”

She spun around and planted the hand with the towel on her hip. “What could possibly make you jump to the conclusion that I was the one who’d given Kristi the dye?”

He held his hands out, pleading with her to understand. “Look, I’ve had an—” he tried to think of the right word “—an interesting introduction to this area. I seem to be very popular with the single ladies in Maplesville and Gauthier. I thought you were another one trying to sneak your way into my E.R.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about your popularity,” she said, moving to another table and resuming her task. “I happened to catch a gossip session yesterday that was all about the hot new doctor. I cannot believe how the women here are scheming just to get closer to you. It’s ridiculous.”

“Ouch,” Xavier said after a pause. “Way to hurt my feelings.”

She halted in the middle of wiping down the table, looked up at him and burst out laughing.

“That sounded awful, didn’t it?” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that it was ridiculous that women would try to get closer to you. It’s just the lengths they’re going to that seem over the top. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Dr. Wright.”

The self-deprecating grin inching up the edges of her lips was as edible as any of the pastries in the display case. Xavier would bet it tasted better than any of them, too.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.”

Her grin broadened. “Nice try.”

The smile made her already gorgeous face even more alluring. For a moment, her full, gently bowed lips held him captive. She’d gathered her curly hair into a ponytail, making her regal cheekbones more pronounced.

“Shayla, I—”

He was cut off by a loud voice that yelled, “Auntie Shayla!”

The two little girls from last night ran out from a short hallway toward the rear of the coffeehouse.

“Auntie Shayla, is it almost time to dance?” the younger one asked. She looked no worse for wear after last night’s E.R. visit.

When she spotted him, her eyes widened. “Dr. Wright!” She ran up to him, nearly crashing into his legs. “I’m not throwing up yellow stuff anymore.”

“That’s because he gave you medicine to make you feel better,” the older girl said in that soft voice of hers.

“I’m happy it worked,” Xavier said. “And we learned a lesson, right? No eating Easter egg dye, even if it is your favorite color?”

They both nodded.

“Dr. Wright is right,” Shayla said, running a hand down each girl’s head. “Dancing starts in a few minutes. Why don’t you ask Ms. Lucinda to get you each some chocolate milk?”

“I want mine first,” the youngest yelled as they both sprinted for the kitchen.

Shayla turned her attention back to him. “This has been fun, but in about ten minutes I’m going to have a bunch of women here looking to get their Zumba on, and I need to have this place ready.”

She started clearing the middle of the floor, dragging the chairs over to the wall. Xavier picked up a table and carried it over.

“Thanks, but you really don’t have to do this.”

“I know. It’s all a part of my master plan to get in your good graces,” he said with a wink. He got a glimpse of that grin again. Damn, but that grin was nice.

“So, there’s a plan?” she asked.

Xavier nodded as he carted another table away. “Oh, yeah. I’m determined to get you to accept my apology.”

She cocked her head to the side and stared at him for a moment.

“What?” Xavier asked.

She shook her head after another beat. “Nothing. Continue on. I’m usually doing this by myself, so it’s nice to have some help.”

He moved the last table, then walked up to her, stopping just inside of personal-space territory. “I’d be happy to come by in the evenings and help you move furniture around. Just let me know when to be here.”

She didn’t step back, which he took as a good sign. It meant that she was okay with him being in her personal space. A very good sign. He rather enjoyed her personal space.

The front door opened and two women walked in. Xavier recognized them as members of Gauthier’s Civic Association. They stopped in at the clinic at least once a week to see if there was any help they could provide.

“Hey there, Mrs. Eloise and Mrs. Clementine,” Shayla called. “Glad you two could make it.” They both waved, but headed to the counter where the cook was packing up the leftover baked goods from the display case.

“That would be your cue to leave,” Shayla said. “My class will be starting in just a few minutes.”

“Have you accepted my apology yet?”

She pitched her head back and sighed dramatically at the ceiling. “Fine. I accept your apology.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Xavier said. “I think maybe I should apologize over dinner.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. It seemed as if she was experiencing the same shock he was. Had he really just asked her out to dinner?

“You move pretty quickly, don’t you?” Shayla asked.

No, he didn’t. These days, when it came to women, he was the exact opposite of quick, especially after the way things had ended with Nicole. But now that he’d asked, he wasn’t backing down. In fact, he was dying for her to say yes.

“I want to make up for last night’s blunder.” He reached for her hand. “Let me take you to dinner, Shayla.”

When he touched her a current of electricity sparked between them. Xavier saw her breath catch. She stared down at their clasped hands, then back up at him. They stood there for several moments, the air between them crackling with a charged sizzle that he felt down to his toes.

Her eyes still locked with his, she slowly eased her fingers out of his grasp. “While I appreciate the invitation, I’m just too busy these days. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline. Good night, Dr. Wright.”

No way was he giving up this easily, not after the forceful surge that had overpowered the air between them a moment ago.

“What can I do to convince you to reconsider?” Xavier asked.

So now he was pleading for a date? What in the hell was going on with him?

A group of spandex-clad women of varying ages walked through the front door.

“Good night, Dr. Wright,” Shayla said again.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, Xavier accepted defeat. For now.

“Good night,” he said, staring at her retreating form as she turned and headed for one of the tables toward the back of the room. He continued to stare as she set up an iPod docking station and attached a set of speakers to it.

Just as he turned to leave, Margery Lambert, who’d brought her grandson to the clinic last week with a virus, stopped him. As she went on and on about the child’s antics over the past week, the Zumba class started. Xavier barely registered Mrs. Lambert’s words as Shayla began to instruct her students. His mouth dried up at the sight of her perfectly curved hips rotating to the Latin dance beats coming from the iPod.

God, she was beautiful. And sexy.

And definitely worth another attempt at asking out to dinner.

It took him a moment to reacquaint himself with the idea of actually pursuing a woman. Sure, he’d hooked up with a couple of women over the past year—women who knew from the start that he wanted a no-strings-attached deal. Dinner wasn’t even expected, just a mutual meeting of body parts to fulfill a certain need. But when he’d asked Shayla to dinner, a casual hookup had been the last thing on his mind.

“Oh, I’m missing the warm-up,” Mrs. Lambert said. “Anyway, Jayden is doing so much better. Thank you again, Dr. Wright. I am so grateful to have you and the others at the new clinic.”

Xavier jerked to attention. Had she been talking to him this whole time?

“I... You’re welcome,” he said before Mrs. Lambert went over to join the rest of the class.

He lingered for a few minutes before forcing himself to exit the coffee shop. As he strolled to his Jeep, he prayed that visions of Shayla Kirkland’s swaying hips didn’t keep him up half the night.

* * *

“What about marshmallows?” Kristi clapped her hands excitedly and jumped up and down as if she’d just come up with the best recipe in the history of the universe.

“I’m not sure marshmallows will work in these cookies,” Shayla said. “What if we try bulgur wheat, chai seeds and raisins?”

That got her the “you must be an alien who just sprouted two heads and an extra arm” look from both nieces.

“Okay, nix the chai,” Shayla said. She’d throw them in there when they weren’t looking.

“And add chocolate chips,” Kristi suggested.

They compromised on a dark chocolate drizzle. Even with the extra chocolate the cookies would still be better than the junk Shayla had encountered Kristi eating when she’d dropped in unannounced during snack time at school today. She’d walked into the classroom and had to stop herself from snatching the honeybun slathered with thick icing from her niece’s hands.

Discovering what passed for snacks at Kristi’s preschool only reaffirmed Shayla’s quest to break the cycle of unhealthy eating habits in this area before her nieces fell into the trap. Tonight’s baking adventure served double-duty. Not only was it another way to bond with the girls, but it also gave her a chance to test a few new recipes for The Jazzy Bean.

She’d been ecstatic to find a supplier in New Orleans that specialized in heart-healthy organic baked goods, but their prices had increased by 15 percent in the past six months. It was hard enough convincing customers to try the healthier options; they definitely would not be willing to pay a premium for them.

“What time does mommy get here?” Kristi asked as she sprinkled in raisins a little at a time.

“She should be getting in any minute. Her airplane landed at eight o’clock.”

Cass’s eyes darted to the stove. “She’s going to fuss at us for not being in bed.”

“She’ll be so happy to see you I think she’ll forgive you this one time.”

The sound of tires crunching the shelled driveway could be heard through the opened kitchen window.

“Mommy!” Cassidy and Kristi both screamed. They took off for the back door. Moments later, her sister-in-law walked into the house. She stooped and gathered her girls in a group hug.

“Welcome back,” Shayla said, wiping dough from her fingers.

“It’s good to be back,” Leslie said. “I’ve missed you girls so much.” She planted loud kisses on each daughter’s cheek. “Did you two have fun with Auntie Shayla?”

Kristi nodded. “I went to the hospital.”

Leslie’s gaze flew to Shayla, her eyes wide with dismay. “What happened?”

Damn. She’d wanted to ease that bit of news into the conversation. She should have known Kristi would be eager to share her E.R. adventure with her mother.

“It turned out to be nothing,” Shayla said.

“What’s nothing?”

“Kristi ate the color that goes on the Easter eggs,” Cassidy supplied.

Shayla quickly filled her in on yesterday’s mishap.

“The E.R. visit was probably overboard, but I didn’t want to take any chances,” she tacked on.

After an awkwardly long silence that only ratcheted up Shayla’s anxiety, Leslie smoothed a hand over Kristi’s springy curls and said, “Well, I guess accidents happen.”

Shayla’s head snapped back in surprise. Of all the reactions that had swarmed through her head, that had not been one of them. She hadn’t expected Leslie to yell and scream—that just wasn’t in her sister-in-law’s quiet nature—but she’d anticipated more of a reprimand, or at least a dirty look.

“You girls go and get your things,” Leslie said. “It’s past your bedtime and there’s school tomorrow.”

Shayla waited until they were alone before saying, “I really am sorry, Les.”

“It’s okay. I know how hard it is. You can’t watch them every minute of every day.”

“But I had to watch them for only a few days. I swear, I thought I would die when I saw Kristi vomiting all over the place.”

“You should have been here when Cassidy got an ink pen cap stuck up her nose. Braylon needed more comforting than she did.” Leslie laughed, then she covered her mouth with her hand as if she’d done something wrong.

Shayla’s heart broke in two. “Oh, Leslie. There’s nothing wrong with talking about him.”

She took a step forward, intending to what? Hug her? Place a comforting hand on her shoulder?

It didn’t matter, because Leslie backed away, moving to the counter where Shayla had stacked the DVDs, board games, and crayons and coloring books Leslie had provided before she’d left for Houston.

Tension suffused the air, the brief gaiety of a few moments ago obliterated by the mention of her brother’s name.

If only she could figure out a way to get them all past their grief.

She was still learning her way when it came to her family, never sure how her gestures would be received. The truth of the matter was, she just didn’t know them. And it was entirely her fault.

She’d received invitations to holiday gatherings, the girls’ christenings, but she’d always had an excuse not to take that long flight back to Louisiana. Four times in nineteen years, that’s how many times she’d returned home. She’d figured she’d have time for family later, once her brother was done with the army and his girls were older. Once she’d accomplished all those career goals that had come to rule her life.

Braylon’s death had changed everything. It brought the importance of family into stark relief. Now that her brother was gone, Leslie and the girls were the only family she had left. She would figure out a way to connect with them. She refused to accept any other outcome.

The girls came running back into the kitchen carrying their overnight bags.

“Mommy, did you bring us back a present?” Kristi asked.

“Possibly,” Leslie said. “You’ll have to wait until we get home to find out.”

“Do you need help getting them into the car?” Shayla asked.

“I think we’re good. We’re good, aren’t we, girls?”

They both nodded.

Shayla followed them out to the car, anyway. Kristi kissed her on the cheek, but Cassidy only gave her a small wave before slipping into the backseat. Shayla continued to wave goodbye as Leslie backed the car out of the driveway. A minute later, Paxton’s black Mazda hatchback pulled in.

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