leaned closer over the desk. At the moment, the Weaver Hospital’s emergency department was quiet. “He must not have a wife, or he wouldn’t need care. So is he handsome?” Her eyes danced wickedly.
“Whether he is or not is beside the point. He’s a patient.”
Lisa sighed noisily and straightened. “Honestly, girl. You are twenty-six years old, so beautiful that other women ought to hate you, and I swear you live the life of a nun. It’s practically criminal.”
Courtney gave a laughing snort. “Why does it matter to you? You’re besotted with your husband, and you know it.” Lisa and Jay even had a darling little girl, Annie.
Lisa lifted her shoulder. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean a little vicarious living is out of the question. So … handsome or not?”
Courtney gave a huge sigh and closed the chart. “Mason is—” She broke off, trying to find a good word to describe the man and failing entirely. “Handsome enough.” She settled on the adjective, just because it was expedient. Despite the scar on his face, he was a striking man. Not handsome exactly, because he had a certain aura of … darkness around him. “More importantly, he’s a patient.”
Lisa made a face. “Well. At least tell me you’re going to spend the extra money you’re earning on something more interesting than fresh paint for your house trim. For nine months, all you’ve talked about is that house of yours.”
A laugh started to bubble in the back of Courtney’s throat.
Nine months.
It was almost funny.
She looked across the counter at her coworker and friend and shrugged casually, hiding the squiggle of excitement inside her. “What can I say? It’s my home. I want it to be perfect.”
Perfect for when it wasn’t just her living there.
Then she waved her hands in a shooing motion as she turned her attention back to paperwork that needed to be completed ASAP. “Now, we’d better get back to work or the boss lady around this place will have our heads.”
They both grinned, because the boss lady who ran the Weaver Hospital happened to be Courtney’s mother, Dr. Rebecca Clay. But the grins didn’t last long because the doors to the E.R. slid open, and Courtney’s sister-in-law, Mallory, strode inside, shrugging out of her jacket as she moved. “Got a high-risk mom coming in by air,” she greeted as she moved rapidly across the tiled floor past the desk where Courtney and Lisa were. “They’re at least ten minutes out.”
Courtney was already following her. “I’ll call the team.” She didn’t even look back to see Lisa assume her seat at reception.
Mallory nodded and pushed through the double doors, Courtney on her heels.
The quiet evening was over, and Courtney didn’t have a chance to think about much of anything until it was time for her dinner break at ten o’clock.
She drove the short distance home and let herself into the house. There was a water glass sitting on the counter in the kitchen where she hadn’t left it, but that was the only indication that Mason had been moving around the house.
A light came from his room down the hall, and she headed there quietly in case he was sleeping. She stuck her head around the doorway and looked inside.
He was sprawled on the bed, more or less in the same position that she’d left him. A book was lying closed on the mattress beside him, and Plato was lying next to that.
Her dog’s brow wrinkled as he looked at her, but he didn’t lift his head. He looked as if he were settled for the night. Between the big dog and the big man, there was barely a spare inch of mattress left.
Courtney settled a light blanket over Mason and turned off the light. Mason still didn’t stir. That was good. He needed sleep.
“Good boy,” she whispered to Plato, giving his head a scratch.
She left the house again and went back to the hospital to finish her shift. The second half passed even more quickly than the first, thanks to a motorcycle accident on the highway outside of town. It was just after three o’clock when she got home again.
Mason’s room was still quiet, except for the faint sound of his snoring.
She smiled a little to herself and went into her own bedroom, which was across the hall from his. She exchanged her scrubs for a pair of lightweight pajama pants and a tank and then—because she always needed to unwind for a while after getting off shift—headed out to the family room again. She’d barely sat down in front of her computer when she heard the pad of Plato’s paws. He propped his head on her knee, flopping his tail against the floor.
“So, Plato. Are you ready to have a baby?”
Chapter Three
Courtney rested her chin on her palm and stared at the computer screen, her mind eagerly whisking into the future.
“A little boy or a little girl?” She didn’t care which. She glanced at the dog. “Come this time next year, we’ll have a smiling, gurgling little someone to cuddle. What do you think?”
Plato’s warm brown eyes stared back at her. He made a low sound that she took as complete agreement.
Brilliant dog that he was.
She grinned and reached out to run her fingers through his thick, silky hair, and he grinned back at her, pushing his head harder against her palm. His long, feathered tail slapped the base of her chair. “I knew you’d like the idea, too.” Plato had been around children before she’d adopted him. His previous owner had run a foster home before cancer had stricken her.
Thinking of the woman who hadn’t only been Courtney’s teacher in Cheyenne, but also her friend, made her sigh.
Then she leaned over and pressed a kiss on Plato’s big head before turning back to the computer screen that glowed in front of her. She wasn’t going to end up like Margaret, taking in other people’s children when they couldn’t properly care for them. For Margaret, that had been enough.
Not for Courtney.
She wanted a child of her own.
“Thank goodness for Axel, huh?” She didn’t look away from the computer screen. “If it weren’t for him, we’d be waiting even longer.” Of course, when her cousin had approached her about taking in Mason, he’d had no idea of her plans and still didn’t. For that matter, nobody in her family had any idea.
She simply wasn’t ready to share, yet.
She looked back at her faithful companion and scrubbed her fingers through his thick coat again. “You’re the only one who knows,” she whispered.
The four-year-old Saint Bernard gave a huge, contented sigh.
Which had pretty much been the dog’s reaction ever since she’d begun voicing her intention to add to their small family.
She was twenty-six
