blessings on the guest at our table, Lord. Make his time here fruitful. Amen.”
He didn’t remember the last time anyone had prayed for him. It made him uncomfortable and touched him simultaneously. He and God hadn’t been on speaking terms in years, but he didn’t suppose he’d ever tell Maggie that.
“Good stew.” Joey was well into his bowl already.
Maggie caught Grant’s eyes and smiled. “He’s a growing boy. He eats like a bear.”
Joey growled, making his little sister and brother laugh. The kid’s answering grin was pleased.
The girl, Tacey, was a mouse of a child, thin and shy, with light brown hair tumbling into her eyes in spite of the pink plastic barrette that was pinned in it. The smaller boy laughed at Joey’s antics, then glanced around as if maybe he shouldn’t have.
An interesting combination. Maggie seemed to lose that perennial chip on her shoulder when she talked with the kids. Her brown eyes warmed with caring.
When he’d first seen her that afternoon, he’d thought he was looking at an overworked nurse with an antipathy toward outsiders, doctors or both. Now he saw another side to Maggie, one that was ruled by protectiveness toward the three kids, the old cat and probably also the elderly woman.
She glanced up and caught him watching her. Her eyes widened, and for an instant he didn’t hear the children’s chatter. Their gazes caught and held. Awareness stretched between them like a taut cord.
Maggie broke the contact first, looking down at her bowl, her cheeks pinker than they’d been before. He yanked his attention to his stew, stirring the brown gravy as if that was the only thing on his mind.
What had just happened?
No sense asking the question. He already knew the answer. He’d looked at Maggie and felt a shockingly strong wave of attraction. Maggie had felt it, too.
That wouldn’t do. He rejected the temptation. This month would be difficult enough without that kind of entanglement.
A pleasant, professional relationship—that was what was called for here. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to move beyond that instant antagonism. Maybe he should have settled for being sparring partners with Maggie, because anything else was out of the question.
Maggie stood at the reception desk checking charts. At least, she should have been checking charts. She definitely should not be thinking about those moments at supper last night when attraction had sparked between her and Grant.
She couldn’t dismiss the memory. Like the proverbial elephant in the living room, it took up too much space. She couldn’t ignore the warm wave that had washed over her, waking every cell in her body and reminding her she was alive.
All right, be rational. She couldn’t pretend that moment hadn’t happened, but she could understand her reactions. After all, she hadn’t had anyone special in her life for a long time—since she’d come back to Button Gap, in fact. She could hardly be surprised if working in close quarters with an attractive man roused feelings that were better left sleeping.
Grant was attractive. With his classically handsome face and his assured manner, he looked like what she suspected he was—a sophisticated, upper-class urbanite who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. A greater contrast to herself couldn’t be imagined.
Well, she wasn’t trying to measure his suitability for her, was she? She’d simply recognize the feeling for what it was and shut it down. She’d shut down worse emotions than this in her life. She could handle it.
She shuffled the charts into a stack and plopped them firmly on the desktop. No problem.
The exam room door opened. Grant came out with a patient—old Isaiah Martin, come to see if the new doc could do anything about his “rheumatiz.”
“Just see if those new pills help you.” Grant carried a parcel wrapped in brown paper gingerly in one hand. “Check in with us next week.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Isaiah tucked a handful of pill samples into the pocket of his dusty corduroy jacket, waved to Maggie and limped out, banging the door behind him.
Grant turned to her with a grin and held out the package. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
A parade of butterflies fluttered through her stomach at the grin. Okay, maybe she hadn’t eliminated the feelings. She could still settle for controlling her reactions so Grant never suspected.
She took the parcel and peeked inside. “Well, I’d suggest refrigerating it until you’re ready to eat it.” At his blank look, she smiled. “It’s venison sausage. Haven’t you ever had any?”
“Not that I can recall. I take it the barter system is alive and well in Button Gap.” He leaned against the desk, way too close for her state of mind. “Don’t they realize that the county pays the bills?”
She carried the package to the small refrigerator. “People here don’t like to accept charity. I’ve tried explaining that their tax dollars support the clinic, but most folks still want to pay their way.”
He shook his head. “They’re out of step with society, then.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No.” His smile warmed those cool blue eyes. “Anyway, you can have the sausage if you want it.”
“What’s the matter? Too rough for your sophisticated palate?”
Instead of responding with a smile or a jibe, he studied her face for a moment, as if wondering what lay beneath the skin. “That sounds like a criticism,” he said. “And I’m not sure why. What do you have against me, Maggie?”
She shouldn’t have let the remark pop out of her mouth. She knew better.
Grant waited, expecting an answer. At least he didn’t look angry.
“Sorry.” She forced herself to be honest with him. “I guess the problem is that I see the volunteers come and go. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. We couldn’t run the clinic without them.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” He folded his arms across the front of the white lab coat he wore over a pale blue dress shirt.
She shrugged. “But sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth. And sometimes I get the feeling that the only reason they’re here is to fill in the line for public service on their résumés.”
“That’s a pretty harsh judgment, isn’t it?”
That was what Aunt Elly had said, in different words. She’d reminded Maggie that being judgmental was a sin.
“That’s how I feel. If I’m wrong, I’m sorry.”
He shoved himself away from the desk and came toward her, frowning. She had to force herself not to back up. He stopped, inches from her, his gaze intent on her face.
“Okay, fair enough. Why are you here, Maggie?”
Not for any reason I’d like to confide
