Baby, Drive South
“I asked for some privacy,” she murmured, then pushed a button to power up the hand-held X-ray scanner.
He wagged his dark eyebrows. “You wanted to be alone with me, little lady doc?”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “For professional reasons only, Mr. Armstrong. Now I’m going to remove your pants.”
“Porter,” he corrected, then grinned and clasped his hands beneath his head, as if he were getting comfortable. “And if I had a nickel for every time a woman took my pants off—”
“Spare me the calculation,” she interrupted, lifting her scissors. “I’m only cutting open your jeans so I can X-ray your entire leg. You might want to be still so I don’t snip something I shouldn’t.”
That did it. For the time being, at least, he lay unmoving. If only her hands would be as still, she thought with consternation as she laid open the fabric to reveal the rest of his leg.
It was a fine leg. Corded with thick muscle and covered with dark hair except where it had been rubbed off in spots, presumably by tall boots. Small jagged scars started below his knee and grew larger in an arcing pattern moving up his thigh, ending just below the edge of his black boxer briefs.
Nikki winced inwardly—shrapnel scars. She’d completed her residency at a veterans’ hospital, so she’d seen her fair share of the ravaging war wounds. Her respect for Porter Armstrong rose a notch—the man was no stranger to pain.
He squirmed. “Uh, little lady doc?”
“Dr. Salinger,” she corrected.
“This is a little embarrassing.” His cobalt blue eyes were sheepish as he lowered his hand to cover the growing bulge in his underwear.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it in her medical career, but it was still unexpected. She averted her gaze and said, “It’s okay, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he slurred. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a woman.”
Nikki pursed her mouth. “I don’t take it ‘personally,’ Mr. Armstrong. It’s simply a physiological reaction.” And even though his erection obviously wasn’t meant for her, she took a moment to note its impressive size out of clinical curiosity.
If pressed, she’d have to say the man’s sex organ was above average.
“I’m trying to think of something else,” he said, “but it’s hard—” He stopped. “I mean, it’s difficult to think of something else with all those good-looking women outside.”
“Keep trying,” she said wryly, then pulled the lead-lined apron she was required to wear while operating the X-ray machine over her head.
He made a face at the bulky garment. “I never had a woman want to get me alone and then put more clothes on.”
Nikki rolled her eyes and picked up the hand-held scanner. “Mr. Armstrong, if you keep talking, I’m afraid this is going to be very painful.” Painful for her, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Porter,” he muttered, but fell quiet.
Nikki had to smother a smile while she held the scanner close to the skin, then ran it slowly over his foot and leg.
She hit a button to tell the machine she was finished, then waited while the image appeared on the eight-by-ten-inch black-and-white screen.
“Is my ankle broken, doc?”
Nikki studied the X-ray and took her time responding. “The ankle is simply the joint where your leg bones meet your foot bones.” She turned the screen and pointed to the skeletal image. “Looks like the tibia, which is the larger leg bone connected to your foot, is intact. But the smaller bone, the fibula, is broken, and I’m guessing you have some torn ligaments, too.”
“Can you fix me up?”
“I can set the bone and apply a cast to your ankle to support it while everything heals. The bone had a clean break, so it should be fine. But the ligaments are less predictable, and your ankle could be dislocated. You really should see an orthopedic surgeon sometime in the next few weeks to make sure it’s healing properly.”
“How long will I be laid up?”
“At least six weeks.”
He frowned. “That long?”
“More if you have complications.”
He looked devastated. “Are you sure?”
She set down the X-ray machine so he could see the screen. “I’m only telling you what I see,” she said, arching her eyebrow. “You’re welcome to get a second opinion.”
A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Okay, do whatever you need to do, little lady doc.”
She pulled out a syringe and filled it from a vial.
“Except give me another shot,” he protested, pushing up on his elbows. “I already feel…loopy.”
She flicked the syringe. “Trust me, Mr. Armstrong, you don’t want to be awake while I set the bone.”
“Porter. And I can handle pain.”
“No doubt,” she said, nodding to his scars. “But there’s no need to be a hero here. Besides, my job will be easier if you’re under.”
“Okay,” he grumbled.
“While you’re out, I’ll clean your cuts.” She leaned over his arm and swabbed it with an alcohol pad.
“You smell nice,” he murmured, his voice husky.
The remark caught her by surprise, sending a shiver along her shoulders. She forced a little laugh. “I smell like the road I came in on.”
“You smell good to me.”
He smelled good to her, too. A mixture of perspiration, sun and a woodsy scent that didn’t come from a bottle. All male.
She sucked in a breath, then stabbed his arm with the syringe and dispensed all the painkiller, for both their sakes. He relaxed noticeably. Nikki leaned down to hold his eye open to check the pupil.
The man had a high level of concentrated pigment in the iris—in other words, his were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“It sure is nice to have women around,” he slurred. “It’s been a long…long time.”
“So you said, Mr. Armstrong,” she murmured, then leaned over to check his other eye, satisfied the medicine was doing its job.
“Porter,” he whispered.
Suddenly his hand reached up to clasp her neck, and before she realized what was happening, he’d pulled her mouth down on his for a long, wet kiss.
5
Nikki lost her balance and fell against Porter’s chest. In those few seconds, she wished she wasn’t a doctor and this man wasn’t her patient, because it was…a…very…good…kiss. His lips were firm, his tongue seeking. Unbidden, fire streaked through her chest, and an alien sensation—lust?—flowered in her midsection. The realization made her stiffen. The man was sex-starved and under sedation.
She planted her hands against his chest and pushed hard to escape his embrace. “Mr. Armstrong, let go of me,” she said, although her voice sounded breathy and weak, even to her own ears.
“Porter!” Marcus shouted from the door. When Nikki turned to see both the older Armstrong brothers charging toward them, she realized they’d returned and witnessed the kiss. By the time the men had reached them, though, Porter had released her and his head lolled to the side. He was out cold.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Salinger,” Kendall said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she was still shaken—more by her reaction to the kiss than the kiss itself. After Darren’s betrayal, she’d promised herself she’d be immune to the charms of men, yet here she was trembling like a virgin.
“My little brother has the manners of a mule,” Marcus said, his voice thick with disgust.
“It’s probably the medication,” she murmured, trying to gather herself, but not succeeding. She pressed her fingers to her mouth in an attempt to erase the imprint of Porter Armstrong’s lips on hers. Her face burned. The brothers studied her, as if they suspected she might bolt.
Indeed, she was considering it.
“How can we help you?” Kendall asked hopefully.
She touched her hand to her forehead, forcing herself to focus. “His lower leg bone is broken. You can provide some leverage so I can set it.”
With their help, she set the bone relatively quickly and confirmed its position with another X-ray. Then she bathed her patient’s leg and swollen ankle with antiseptic, and wrapped cotton strips from his instep to just below his knee. Next came wet lengths of fiberglass cloth over the cotton, which dried quickly to form the cast. She’d hoped the rote movements would allow her to distance herself from the man she was administering to, but the amazing kiss kept flashing in her mind like a stuttering synapse, and the adhesive mixture made her light-headed. She felt flustered throughout and was never so glad to be finished with a procedure.
But then she had to bathe the scrapes and scratches on his chest and arms, which required even more contact, to areas that were even more…pleasing. Porter Armstrong’s physique was lean, with long, well-developed muscles—a very nice specimen. His pectoralis major and rectus abdominis were particularly appealing, but his deltoids were noteworthy as well. It was nerve-wracking to administer to him under the scrutiny of his two concerned brothers, but at last she was satisfied he wasn’t going to be infected by whatever branches and stones he’d come into contact with during the fall. She snapped off her rubber gloves.
“He’s going to be okay?” Marcus asked.
She smiled. “As far as I can tell, although he should be monitored overnight for a fever or pain that might indicate internal bleeding. He should wake up within an hour or so,” she said, dousing her hands with sanitizing gel. “I saw the water tower driving in. He’s a very lucky man to have sustained such minor injuries from a fall like that.”
Marcus frowned. “One day our little brother is going to push his luck too far.”
Kendall elbowed Marcus, as if he didn’t want him airing family squabbles. “It’s kind of you to do this after such a long day, Dr. Salinger. You must be tired and hungry.”
“I am,” she admitted.
“The men are planning a barbecue tonight in the meadow to welcome our guests,” Marcus said. “We hope you’ll come.”
After her unsettling encounter with Porter Armstrong, she needed some time alone to assess her decision to come to Sweetness. In hindsight, she hadn’t thought through the emotional ramifications of picking up and moving across several states to literally build a practice from scratch. And from the conversation she’d overheard earlier, it seemed as if everyone in Sweetness wouldn’t be exactly welcoming of her services. She was starting to think she wasn’t ready for a fresh start—not in a place where it seemed her ego was doomed to take a beating.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’m going to skip the barbecue and get settled in for the night.”
“We saved one of the nicer rooms for you,” Kendall said, his voice eager. He handed her a key with the number 225.
“Your bags have been carried up,” Marcus added.
Both of them were looking at her like hopeful little boys.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to freshen up, then I’ll be back to check on your brother. He seems like the type who will fight coming out from under the sedation. You should stay with him so he doesn’t hurt himself.”
“We will,” Kendall said. “Thank you, Dr. Salinger.”
“Yes, thank you, Dr. Salinger,” Marcus said, pumping her hand. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that Sweetness has a physician.”
Nikki wet her lips. “I heard some men talking earlier about a Dr. Riley?”
“Riley Bates,” Kendall said. “He’s not a doctor. He gives the men home remedies for minor ailments.”
Great. She’d be competing with a witch doctor.
“There’s no conflict,” Marcus assured her. “Everyone is glad you’re here.”
But from the brothers’ forced smiles, she got the feeling they’d also heard unhappy rumblings among the men about having a “female doctor.”
“Don’t hang my shingle just yet, gentlemen. Now that I’ve seen your town, I have some thinking to do.” Nikki picked up her doctor’s bag and trudged toward the door. Maybe she’d feel better after a long, hot shower.
Assuming this place had hot water.
This place had no hot water.
Nikki shivered under the shower head, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. After a long, sweaty day, the icy blast had felt refreshing…for about five seconds. Then the cold needles had penetrated her skin and stabbed down to her bones. She hurriedly shampooed her hair and lathered her skin, but it was far from the leisurely bathing experience she’d been looking forward to. She jumped out and wrapped herself in a towel. Still shivering, she walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom she’d been assigned to.
Admittedly, it was a beautiful room, simply decorated with a new black wooden bed and matching wardrobe, plus a red upholstered couch and two cream-colored upholstered chairs around a simple black coffee table. It was a corner room, with two large windows. The sun was on a slow descent into the western clouds, spilling pink and orange tones over a mountain range. When something akin to awe began to bleed into her chest, Nikki turned away. She didn’t want to fall in love with anything about Sweetness. Romantic sunsets did not make up for the lack of basics, like hot water and a medical facility.
And her encounter with Porter Armstrong had affected her more deeply than she wanted to acknowledge. For most of her life, she’d been overlooked as a desirable woman, but she’d found acceptance as a medical professional. She’d hoped she was coming to a place where she could start over as a physician and make a difference. Instead, she’d immediately been reminded she didn’t measure up in the dateable department.
And why was she surprised? The Armstrong brothers, after all, were hoping to attract women who wanted to settle down with their workers…and probably with the Armstrong brothers themselves. So if she decided to stay in this place, she’d have to make peace with the idea that she would be immersed in, surrounded by and inundated with besotted women and hormone-crazed men pairing up like animals headed for the Ark…and that in the midst of the chaos, she would stand alone.
She thought she was okay with the idea of throwing herself into her career and giving up the idea of meeting a man to share her life with. But upon closer inspection, Sweetness was possibly the most unfortunate choice of environment she could’ve made. Considering the comments she’d overheard from the male workers, her ambition of building her own medical practice in Sweetness might be an uphill battle.
So the only practical reason to stay would be if she thought she might be able to achieve…that other thing.
That meeting a man to share her life with thing.
Porter Armstrong’s incredible kiss taunted her, stirring forgotten urges. Nikki inadvertently licked her lips—she could still taste him, could still feel his strong fingers cupped around the nape of her neck and the warmth of his bare, muscular chest beneath her splayed hands.
Then she gave herself a mental shake. The only reason Porter Armstrong had kissed her was because she was there. The man was the exact kind of oaf she’d come here to escape!
Nikki touched her forehead, then checked her watch. She needed to get back to her patient, who most likely wouldn’t even remember the kiss that was messing with her ability to make a rational decision about staying in Sweetness, or getting out—as Southerners were fond of saying—while the getting was good.
6
Porter smiled…he was in the old swimming hole he and Marcus and Kendall had played in when they were boys. He was the best diver and the fastest swimmer. It was the one place he could out-do his older brothers, and he loved to show off. But now no matter how much he kicked, he couldn’t seem to surface. The harder he tried, the more murky the water became, and the more the sticky mud at the bottom pulled at his legs.
As frustration swelled in his chest painfully, he thrashed and clawed at the water, as afraid of embarrassing himself in front of his brothers as losing his life.
“Stop fighting it,” came Marcus’s voice, and suddenly Porter’s arms were rendered to lead. Which only made him work harder.
“Dammit, Porter, stop fighting us and open your eyes.”
As much as he hated doing anything Marcus told him to do, Porter opened his eyes, cringing against the light. He was disoriented, but slowly realized his brothers were holding him down. He grunted and strained against them, his mind reeling.
“Settle down, little brother,” Kendall soothed. “You fell off the water tower and broke your leg. Dr. Salinger put you under sedation to set the bone and apply a cast.”
Porter relaxed as the events of the afternoon flooded back to him. From the shallow angle of the sun coming through the windows, he realized dusk was approaching. He’d missed most of the day. He winced. His head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached, no doubt a result of his fall.
“Dr. Salinger?” he repeated, squinting as the serious face of a tiny, mousy woman came back to him. “Little lady doc?”
“You owe her a big thank-you,” Kendall said, helping him to a sitting position. “If not for her and her van full of supplies, we would’ve had to take you to Atlanta.”
“And you owe her an apology,” Marcus barked.
Porter gave the fiberglass cast on his left leg beneath the split in his work jeans a cursory knock. “What for?” he asked absently, still a little woozy.
“We walked in on you kissing her. She was struggling to get away,” his older brother bellowed. “Are you such a hound dog that you couldn’t keep your hands off the damn doctor?”
Porter squinted. There was a distant recollection of a very nice kiss. He grinned. “What can I say?”
Marcus’s face turned crimson. “You can say you’re sorry, you idget!”
“It was just a kiss,” Porter protested.
“It was inappropriate,” Kendall admonished.
“She’s already skittish about being the only doctor in town—with no facilities,” Marcus said. “We can’t afford to lose her because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Porter scoffed. “Come on, Marcus. She probably enjoyed it. From what I remember of the little lady doc, she looked like she hasn’t been kissed all that much. The woman probably has her nose stuck in a book most of the time, and sleeps with her cat.”
At the sound of a door closing, Porter swung his head around to see the topic of their conversation standing there. The woman was tiny—five feet two inches, max—with a figure as slim as a weeping willow branch in stiff khakis and a white button-up shirt. Her mousy-colored hair was falling into her eyes, still damp from a recent shower. The black medical bag she held in one hand looked like it might topple her over. In the other hand, she held a pair of crutches that were almost as tall as she was. Her pale face was free of makeup, highlighting the rings of exhaustion under her eyes. And from the bright pink tinge in her cheeks, she’d obviously heard his comment.
Remorse barbed through Porter’s chest. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she straightened and moved toward them like a miniature steamroller.
“How’s my patient?” she asked cheerfully.
“Fine,” the brothers answered in three-part harmony. Porter shot his brothers an annoyed look.
“I’m fine,” he said more forcefully.
Kendall cleared his throat meaningfully.
“Thank you,” Porter added, “for…everything.”
She gave a curt nod and handed the crutches off to Kendall. “Let’s get you on your feet, Mr. Armstrong.”
She positioned herself on one side of him and Marcus stepped on the other side.
Porter surveyed her slight frame. “No offense, little lady doc, but maybe Kendall should do this instead of you.”
Her pointed chin came up. She had green eyes—rather pretty green eyes. “I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Armstrong.”
Feeling put in his place, Porter lifted one arm around Marcus’s shoulders, and settled one arm around hers. A jolt of awareness ripped through his body at the feel of her skin beneath his, catching him off guard. She was a tiny thing, with the bone structure of a songbird. She barely came up to his armpit, but true to her word, when he eased to his feet, she bore his weight as well as his big brother. She smelled like wildflowers, fresh and clean. Her hair brushed his chin with the satiny caress of a butterfly wing. His body started to respond, but the memory of a similar reaction when she’d cut his pant leg flashed back to him. He hardened his jaw to get his body under control. Marcus was right—the woman deserved more respect. When he was standing, albeit awkwardly, Kendall grabbed the crutches and gave them to him, allowing Marcus and the doctor to step away.
But when she slipped out from under his arm and took her womanly aromas with her, Porter felt her absence acutely.
“Take a couple of steps,” she encouraged.
Maybe it was because he felt like such a heel for the comment he’d made, but he suddenly wanted to please this woman.
He shifted his weight to his good leg, then moved the crutches forward and swung his body to catch up. It was an awkward movement, but muscle memory kicked in from years before when he’d been on crutches for an injury he’d rather forget.
“Looks like you got the hang of it,” Dr. Salinger said. She opened her bag and removed a bottle of pills. “Stay off your feet for the next couple of days. These are for the pain. You should take them with food.”
“I’m famished,” he admitted.
“The men are having a barbecue in the meadow for our visitors,” Kendall said, then jerked his head toward Dr. Salinger when she wasn’t looking. Porter, not understanding whatever his brother was trying to tell him, lifted his hands in confusion.
She picked up her bag. “My work here is done.”
“Dr. Salinger,” Marcus said into the silence, his voice solicitous. “Have you had time to unpack?”
“Not yet,” she said, her voice hesitant.
“I hope your room is satisfactory,” Kendall added in a rush.
She gave him a little smile. “Yes, it’s very comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll call it a night.”
Her slim shoulders drooped as she walked toward the door. Guilt washed over Porter. The woman was a long way from home, and her first day in a strange place had been spent taking care of him. Yet he’d been no gentleman. If his mother were privy to his behavior, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing.
Porter felt the expectant gaze of both of his brothers on him, but he couldn’t conjure up any flattering praise to assuage his earlier slight. Instead, he resorted to an approach more familiar to him—flirting.
“Hey, darlin’, it’s way too early to call it a night,” he said, using the voice he reserved for thirty minutes before a bar’s closing time. He winced—his words sounded cheesy even to him, an opinion seconded and thirded by his brothers’ withering looks.
Dr. Salinger turned back and kept moving, but pinned him with her intriguing green eyes. “Maybe so, but I have a book to finish, and I wouldn’t want my cat to get lonely.”
Porter’s mouth opened, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak.
The thud of the door closing behind her mirrored the impact of his heart dropping to his stomach. He was an ass.
“Porter, you’re an ass,” Marcus confirmed.
“What are we going to do?” Kendall asked, uncharacteristically flustered. “She’s probably on her way upstairs to pack and hightail it off this mountain!”
“We aren’t going to do anything,” Marcus said, then reached forward and thumped Porter on the chest. “Fix this, or I might be tempted to break your other leg.”
Porter winced and rubbed his sore pectoral muscle. He had no doubt Marcus would do it.
“If Dr. Salinger leaves Sweetness,” Kendall added, pacing the floor with agitation, “the rest of the women will probably leave, too. They won’t want to live where they can’t get medical care.” He jammed his hand into his hair. “If word gets out how primitive the conditions are on this mountain, we might never get another woman to set foot in Sweetness.”
It shook Porter to see his middle brother so rattled. Sure, the town would grow more quickly with women, and Kendall had been the one who decided to place the ad in Broadway, Michigan, but…he was acting as if he had an emotional stake in these women staying—