Mission: M.d.
“Three I could handle. We’re talking thirteen, Gran! He still lived with his parents.”
“Get them young, you can raise them up the way you want,” she retorted, only to laugh when Rachel just huffed in frustration. “Okay, okay, so he was a little young. This one’s not. I think he’s around your age. You’ll like him. He’s cute and clever. If he was a little older, I’d go after him myself.”
“Gran!”
“Well, it’s true. Always appreciate a good man, Rachel, regardless of their age.”
“I do,” she replied. “They’re just few and far between.”
“Actually, they’re more common than you think,” her grandmother told her. “You just can’t see them because of Jason. And who can blame you? What that man did to you was criminal! He lied to you for seven years. No one in their right mind would blame you for hating his guts. Just don’t paint all men with the same brush, sweetheart. Give them a chance.”
“I do give them a chance.”
“Yeah, right,” Evelyn laughed. “Sweetie, I’ve seen you whenever a customer gets a little friendly. You’ve got No Trespassing signs posted all over you.”
“I do not!”
“Remember that in the morning when Robert shows up at the bakery.”
“What? In the morning? C’mon, Gran, give me a little time to at least prepare myself.”
“You’ll do fine,” her grandmother assured her. “Just be nice. He’s a lovely boy. You’ll like him. Now, go to bed, sweetheart. You’ve got to look your best in the morning. Call me after you meet him.”
“But—”
The line went dead, leaving her sputtering. With a groan of frustration, she shut her cell phone with a click and didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. Dammit, she should have seen this coming. When she’d told her grandmother her plan to find a nice medical student to father a baby for her, Evelyn had been nothing but supportive. That only should have been enough to set off Rachel’s alarm bells. Her grandmother might be eccentric and outrageous at times, but when it came to family, she was a strict traditionalist. She believed in love and marriage, then babies.
Which was why Rachel had been so surprised when her grandmother hadn’t given her much grief over her plan to have a baby. She should have known better, she thought wryly. The only reason Evelyn had gone along with her was because, no doubt, she planned to introduce her to every known bachelor within a hundred miles of Hunter’s Ridge before she had a chance to get pregnant. And all Rachel could do was grin and bear it. Her grandmother loved her—she just wanted the best for her. How could Rachel fault her for that?
She would, she promised herself, be nice tomorrow morning when Robert, the lovely boy Evelyn wanted her to meet, put in an appearance. Then she would make it very clear to him that as much as she appreciated him humoring her grandmother, she was currently taking a break from the dating scene. If he was as nice as Evelyn claimed, he would wish her luck, have coffee and a Danish on her, then be on his way with her grandmother being none the wiser.
Pleased that she would be ready for the charm of the unknown Robert, she stripped off her dating finery, took a quick shower to wash off the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to her from the bar, then fell into bed with a tired sigh. It was going on eleven—she should have been in bed two hours ago. She was exhausted, and her eyes drifted shut before her head ever hit the pillow.
Next door, the lights from her new neighbor glowed in the darkness, and the sound of someone hammering floated on the night air. Already dreaming, Rachel never noticed.
The alarm went off at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. Already awake, Rachel hit the off button and rolled out of bed. She’d always been a morning person, but adjusting to the early hours of a baker had been difficult, even for her. When she’d first moved to Hunter’s Ridge to take over the bakery for her grandmother, she’d fallen asleep over dinner every night for the first three months. She was better now—she could occasionally stay up as late as eleven, but she’d learned early on that she had to hit the ground running when the alarm went off in the morning, or she’d sleep right through the breakfast rush.
In the kitchen, her coffeemaker clicked on. By the time the smell of brewing coffee drifted through the house, she was dressed and fighting with her hair. Wild and untamed, it had to be pulled back into a loose ponytail, then braided. After that, all she needed was mascara and a little lip gloss and she was ready. Taking time only to fill her travel mug with coffee, she headed for work.
She loved the morning, loved walking to work, regardless of the weather. She wouldn’t have risked being out on the streets at that hour of the morning in Austin or any other major city in the country, but Hunter’s Ridge was different. The last major crime wave to hit the town was three years ago, when a group of high school boys soaped the car windows of the high school principal and a dozen or so unpopular teachers. And yes, there was an occasional burglary, though those were few and far between. Most people didn’t feel the need to lock their cars at night, and some didn’t even lock their front doors. Rachel couldn’t think of a safer place in the country to live…or raise children.
That thought brought her back to her quest for a sperm donor—and her grandmother’s determination to find her a good man to marry instead. Did the unknown Robert know what her grandmother was planning for him? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking for a husband, or even someone to fall in love with. Robert, regardless of how nice he was, would have to be sent packing.
She wouldn’t be rude, she assured herself as she reached the bakery and unlocked the front door. She’d just be…reserved. And busy, of course, she silently added as she flipped on lights, then hurried to the back to get started on the day’s baking. After all, the mornings were the busiest time of the day for her. She was a baker, for heaven’s sake! Surely the man would realize that she didn’t have time to sit around and visit.
The rest of the morning crew arrived then— Sissy, Mick and Jenny—and for the next hour and a half, she had no time to even think about the unknown Robert and her grandmother’s plans to find her a man. There were fresh doughnuts to make and glaze, not to mention the pastries, bread and muffins the bakery was famous for. Up to her elbows in flour, Rachel was in her element.
As a child, she’d loved visiting her grandmother, standing on a chair at her side in the bakery kitchen, learning the ins and outs of how to make a piecrust that was flaky and tender and melted in your mouth. She’d made her first pie when she was six, using a recipe that had been handed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter for generations in her grandmother’s family.
If things turned out the way she hoped, she thought with a wistful smile, one day she’d have the opportunity to continue that same tradition with her own daughter.
She could just see her now, her dark curls tumbling down her back, an apron that was too big for her tied around her tiny waist as she stood next to her, rolling out the dough with fierce concentration. She’d have dimples…and blue eyes that danced with mischief and merriment….
Caught up in the fantasy, Rachel couldn’t have lost track of time even if she’d wanted to. It was barely six, and her first customers of the day were waiting out on the bakery’s old-fashioned porch for her to open for business. Promptly at six, she unlocked the front door and welcomed them in. Then the madness began.
She loved waiting on her customers, loved greeting them by name and sharing part of the morning with them. She knew their likes and dislikes, who was on a diet and who wasn’t, who liked soda instead of coffee, who had to rush to work, and who could sit at one of the sidewalk tables on the front porch and watch Main Street slowly come awake.
“Good morning, John. A dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts this morning?” she asked the deputy sheriff, who came in every morning to buy doughnuts for the sheriff’s department. “How about a cup of coffee to go?”
His weathered face folded into a broad grin. “You know me too well, Rachel. Better add a dozen glazed, too. It’s a two-doughnut day.”
“You got it,” she chuckled, and boxed up his order for him.
Thirty minutes after she opened the bakery for business, all the tables were full, and there was a line of customers out the door. Delighted, Rachel laughed and joked and completely forgot about the new man her grandmother had arranged for her to meet. Then suddenly, a stranger stepped up to counter and she knew this had to be Robert.
Surprised, she couldn’t have said what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the man standing in front of her. He was tall and lean, with a rugged face and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. After Jason’s betrayal, she’d been convinced that there wasn’t a man on earth who would ever get her attention again. But one look at Robert, and her heart lurched in her breast.
Shocked, irritated, she almost asked Sissy to wait on him, but her pride wouldn’t let her do that. Thankful he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart, she forced a smile. “Hi. Gran said you’d be coming in this morning. You’re a sweetheart to humor her, but I’m not really interested. It’s nothing personal,” she added quickly when he lifted a dark brow in surprise. “I’m just not looking for a man right now. How about a pastry instead? Take your pick. It’s my treat. Okay?”
Chapter 2
Turk Garrison liked to think he was a man who could think fast on his feet. And it didn’t take an Einstein to know that the counter woman who had just dismissed him so pleasantly obviously had mistaken him for someone else. He should have told her he wasn’t who she thought he was, buy the doughnut and coffee he’d come in for, then be on his way. But there were some situations a man just couldn’t walk away from, and this was one of them.
Pressing his hand to his heart, he gave her a wounded look. “I don’t understand. How can you not be interested? I’m not bad-looking, everyone tells me I’m a lot of fun, and I don’t pick my teeth. C’mon. Give me a chance.”
Every customer in the place was listening, and more than a few were having a hard time holding back smiles. That only encouraged him more. “Ask anybody here,” he told her. “They’ll tell you the same thing. We could be perfect for each other, but you’re not even giving me the time of day. Are you sure you want to do that? You could be turning down Mr. Wonderful.”
“That’s right, Rachel,” an older, bald gentleman seated at a nearby table said with twinkling eyes. “At least talk to the man.”
So her name was Rachel. And she blushed beautifully. She was starting to look more than a little trapped, and Turk knew he’d taken the joke far enough. “It’s okay,” he said, grinning. “I’m not him.”
Confused, she frowned. “What?”
“You’ve got me confused with someone else. I don’t even know your grandmother.”
For a moment, she just stood there. Then he watched mortification flare in her pretty blue eyes. “Oh, God! You’re not Robert? I’m so sorry! I thought—”
“No problem,” he said easily. “I don’t know who Robert is, but I’m glad I’m not him. So when are we going out? I’ve got tickets to the Stones concert Saturday night. Say the word and I’ll pick you up at six…I just need your address.”
He gave her a boyish grin that he had, no doubt, been flashing at females since the first one cooed at him in his mother’s arms. And Rachel had to admit that it was damned effective. Dazed, she couldn’t take her eyes from the crooked, enticing curve of his sensuous mouth.
Hello? Anybody home? Have you lost your mind? You’re staring at the man like he just hung the moon!
The irritating little voice that whispered in her head got through to her as nothing else could. Swallowing a curse, she stiffened. What the heck was wrong with her? She didn’t do this, didn’t drool over a man as if she’d never seen one before…especially after the way Jason had betrayed her. The only man she wanted was a stranger she could walk away from after a one-night stand. If this man lived in Hunter’s Ridge, he wouldn’t be a stranger long, and she only had to see the mischief dancing in his eyes to know he wasn’t the kind a woman walked away from easily. The charmers never were.
“Sorry,” she retorted coolly. “I’m busy Saturday night. I have to do my laundry.”
She could have done her laundry any time and the glint in his eye told her he knew it. But he accepted the excuse with a shrug and a grin. “Shot down again. Damn, I hate it when that happens. But that’s okay. I’ll just have to ask again when you’re not so busy. See you around, sweetcakes.”
Flashing his dimples at her, he stuffed a tip in the tip jar, grabbed his coffee and the doughnut she’d sacked for him, and walked out with an easy animal grace that Rachel couldn’t help but appreciate. She wasn’t the only one. When she finally blinked back to attention, every other woman in the bakery was watching the long, tall drink of water saunter out of the bakery.
“I’ll have some of that,” Dixie Hicks sighed dreamily from a nearby table. “He’s cute.”
Next in line at the counter, Hilda Stevens cackled, “He certainly is. Reminds me of my third husband. I never should have let him go—he was a fantastic lover.”
Three years past eighty and showing no signs of slowing down, Hilda loved nothing more than talking about her ex-husbands…and shocking people. Amused, Rachel just rolled her eyes. “Now, Hilda, you know I can’t let you talk about the exes. We’ve got schoolkids here….”
“Oh, they’re trying to decide what doughnuts they want,” she scoffed. “They’re not paying any attention to an old woman.”
“Kids hear everything, Hilda. You know that.”
“They’re not going to hear the good stuff. Anyway, this is about you, not me. Why didn’t you take that boy up on his invitation? I’m not interested,” she mimicked, scowling. “Of course you’re interested! He was cute as a button. Maybe you’re working too hard. I think I need to talk to your grandmother.”
“No!” She was already getting enough grief from her grandmother—she didn’t need more! “I appreciate your concern, Hilda, but I don’t need help from Gran or anyone else. I can get my own dates.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the older woman retorted. “Look what you just let walk out the door!”
It had been a long time since a woman had turned him down for a date, Turk Garrison thought with a grin as he headed back to his house. His timing must have been off. That was okay—he’d ask her again. He knew where she worked. Even if he hadn’t, he could walk the length and breadth of Hunter’s Ridge in less than an hour. Finding her again wouldn’t be a problem.
And that’s what he loved about Hunter’s Ridge…its size. He’d grown up in Dallas, in the shadow of his father, who was one of the most well-known heart surgeons in the city, and all he’d ever wanted to be was a small-town doctor like his grandfather. For his father’s sake, however, he’d tried to follow in his footsteps, but he’d hated it. He’d given it two years—that was all he could manage. Now he was going to do what he wanted to do.
Have you lost your mind? What kind of career can you have in a small town? There’s no future there. No money! You’ve got the hands of a heart surgeon. It’s in your blood! You can’t walk away from that to play Marcus Welby in Small Town, America! It’s insane.
His father had never been one to pull his punches, and he certainly hadn’t when he’d informed him last month that he intended to resign from his father’s practice and open his own clinic in Hunter’s Ridge. He’d ranted and raved and tried to reason with him, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d used his most powerful weapon—Janice, Turk’s mother.
To her credit, his mother had sympathized with his dream of having a less-complicated life and practice. But ultimately, she, too, had stressed how much he would be giving up if he chose Hunter’s Ridge over Dallas…wealth, prestige, professional affiliations with some of the top surgeons in the country. How could he give that up? Why would he want to?
Watching a family of ducks walk across River Road to the river, Turk would never understand how his parents understood him so little. There was no question that his father was successful when it came to making money—but he often passed patients on the street and didn’t have a clue who they were. Turk’s grandfather, on the other hand, not only knew his patients, he knew their children, their hopes and fears, their birthdays and anniversaries and where they planned to be buried.
That was what Turk wanted, what he intended to have.
Even though he’d told his parents he was settling in Hunter’s Ridge, they hadn’t really believed he’d leave Dallas and turn his back on the kind of career he could have there. That, however, is exactly what he’d done. He’d found office space in the town’s newest—and only—strip mall, spent the last two weeks hiring staff and advertising the fact that Hunter’s Ridge had a new doctor in town. The clinic opened for business tomorrow, and it was only three blocks from his house. He’d be able to walk to work every day.
“You’re not in Dallas anymore, Doc,” he told himself with a grin. And that was never more apparent than when he strolled up the front walk to his house.
There was no doubt that it was a fixer-upper. A block off Main Street, it was a hundred years old and looked it. It hadn’t been painted in years, the gutters were drooping, and there was more than one rotting eave that needed to be replaced. The wiring was iffy, the plumbing hadn’t been updated in fifty years, and the pier-and-beam foundation obviously needed some major adjustments—windows and doors throughout the house didn’t shut properly. But the place had good bones. It had ten-foot ceilings, crown molding and stained glass, and it reminded him of his grandparents’ house. He’d taken one look at it and bought it on the spot.
His friends and family thought he was crazy, but he was doing much of the work himself. He enjoyed the physical labor and liked the idea of putting his own stamp on the place. He’d been tearing out Sheetrock almost from the moment he’d moved in two days ago. Once he had it all out, he’d have to bring in an electrician and plumber and a foundation repairman, but in the meantime, he was having a hell of a good time.
Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside and grinned. His mother would have had a stroke if she could see the way he was living. It would be months before the house was no longer a construction zone, so he’d placed all his furniture in storage, then bought a few secondhand pieces to use in the house during the remodeling. He had an old wooden straight chair and a TV tray that he used in the kitchen, a scarred bed and dresser in the huge master bedroom, and an ancient recliner in the living room. And everywhere he looked, there was a fine coating of Sheetrock dust. And he’d just started tearing it out. He could just imagine what the place was going to look like in a few weeks.
From the backyard, Daisy, his yellow Lab, knew the instant he walked into the kitchen. She gave a sharp bark at the back door, but he only laughed. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he called through the door. “I want to work on the Sheetrock, and if I let you in, I won’t get a thing done. Wait a second. I’ve got a treat for you.”
He found a steak bone in the refrigerator from last night’s dinner and opened the back door to offer it to Daisy. She wasn’t a pig when it came to snacks—taking the bone very delicately, she turned and trotted into her doghouse. Turk knew she wouldn’t come out again until the bone was history. Grinning, he grabbed his hammer and nail puller and went to work.
Five hours later, he had a mess on his hands. The floor in the master bedroom was a foot deep with broken pieces of Sheetrock and enough dust to choke a horse. And that was just from the demolition of one wall. Pleased, he attacked the debris on the floor with a commercial broom and dustpan, then spent the next thirty minutes carting it all out to the Dumpster. When he finished, one wall was bare of Sheetrock, and the floor was broom-clean.
Planning to start on the west wall of the bedroom next, he’d just walked into the kitchen to see about making a sandwich for a late lunch when he heard Daisy barking angrily in the backyard. Surprised—she was usually pretty mild-mannered—he glanced out the kitchen window just in time to see her chase a cat across the backyard. A split second later, the cat—and Daisy—sailed over the back fence without ever breaking stride.
“What the hell!” Jerking open the back door, he yelled “Daisy! Get your butt back in this yard right this minute!”
He might as well have told the wind not to blow. Daisy never looked back.
“Damn!” Swearing, he took off after her.
Later, he couldn’t have said how many streets he ran down, how many times he came so close to catching her that he could see the mischief dancing in her eyes. Then she would take off again, barking in excitement at the game. Huffing and puffing, he had no choice but to follow. Hunter’s Ridge had a leash law, but that was the least of his worries. He loved the goofball and it’d break his heart if she darted into the road and got hit.
Ten minutes later, he came around a corner and spied her standing in the front yard of a house that was very much like his, but beautifully restored. At first, he thought Daisy had mistaken the place for home…then, as he drew closer, he realized that she was too busy eating something to notice the house—or the fact that he was quickly bearing down on her.
Relieved, he grabbed her collar. “Gotcha!” Only then did he realize that she hadn’t dug up a bone somewhere. She was eating a cherry pie!
“Daisy! Oh, my God! Where’d you get that?”
Glancing sharply around, he spied a table on the side porch of the house they stood right in front of. There were two other pies cooling there. Swearing, he gave Daisy a reproving look. “Shame on you! This isn’t the way to meet the neighbors! Or potential patients! Now what are we going to do?”
Totally unconcerned, Daisy licked her chops as she finished the rest of her pie.
“C’mon,” Turk growled, tightening his grip on her collar. “It’s time to fess up.”
Bracing for a tongue-lashing—Daisy hadn’t just snatched any pie; it was a homemade one!—he knocked on the door, then waited. Through the frosted oval glass of the front door, Turk could just make out the blurred figure of a woman approaching. “Wipe that smile off your face,” he told Daisy quickly. “At least try to look contrite.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the door was pulled open and he found himself facing an older, white-haired woman with rounded cheeks, a quick smile and faded blue eyes that seemed to have a perpetual twinkle.
Her gaze moving from him to Daisy and back again, she lifted a delicately arched brow. “Yes? May I help you?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with a rueful smile, “but I seem to owe you an apology.”
Surprised, she blinked. “I don’t think so, young man. I don’t even know you.”
“I just moved to town this week,” he explained, and held out his hand. “I’m Turk Garrison. And this is Daisy,” he added, nodding to the Lab. “She owes you an apology, too. She just ate one of your pies.”
“What?” Startled, she glanced past him to the side porch, where an empty trivet spoke of the missing pie.
Watching the emotions flicker lightning quick across her face, Turk wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d given him a piece of her mind. Daisy had wolfed down in seconds something that had, no doubt, taken her hours to make. She had every right to be furious.
Instead, she laughed. “Well, this is a first.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she assured him. “Or Daisy’s.” Holding out her hand to the dog so she could sniff it, she grinned when Daisy licked her fingers. “I was the one who put the pies outside,” she told Turk, her blue eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses. “And I’ll tell right now, they smelled darn good. How was a dog supposed to resist?”