there anything I can do to help?” Rachel asked, her cotton-candy pink mouth a bow of mock concern.
With great effort, Nikki resisted rolling her eyes. Rachel seemed to think they had something in common because the woman once had been a receptionist in a dermatology office. She’d gushed about their mutual medical “expertise” the entire drive south.
“No, thank you,” Nikki chirped, then turned her attention back to the leg that had all the women atwitter, and loosened the tie of his boot. The swollen joint ballooned into the extra room provided. For now she left the boot on to support his injured ankle. The skin wasn’t broken, but a hematoma encompassed the ankle and disappeared into his heavy sock. She palpated the skin gingerly, sensitive to her patient’s sharp intake of breath.
“I need to take an X-ray to determine if anything’s broken.” She looked up at the other Armstrong brothers. “Where is your medical facility?”
When the two men avoided her gaze, she got a sinking feeling. “You don’t have one?”
“We have a first-aid station with basic supplies,” Kendall said. “But no X-ray equipment.”
“We were planning to drive him to Atlanta,” Marcus offered. “Or we could call for an airlift if you think it’s serious.”
Nikki was starting to realize how primitive this “town” really was. The shrinking multi-doctor family practice she’d left back in Broadway suddenly didn’t seem so bad. She swallowed hard. “Does your first-aid station have a place for him to lie down?”
“No,” Kendall admitted, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “But we can move him to the boardinghouse.”
It would have to do. “There’s a portable stretcher in the back of my van,” Nikki said, “along with a mobile X-ray machine, and other supplies.” She nodded toward the workers who were still standing in the back of the supply truck like livestock. “Could some of your friends give me a hand unloading?”
Kendall put two fingers in his mouth and gave an ear-piercing whistle. Men began pouring out of the truck, waiting for direction. Nikki tried to stand, but a tug on her wrist held her back. Porter Armstrong had wrapped long, strong fingers around her wrist. “Little lady doc?”
Unbidden, his touch made her heart race. His lopsided smile grabbed at her. His bright blue eyes, even hazed with painkiller, were riveting and so, so sexy.
“Yes?” she managed to say.
He pulled her closer until his breath brushed her cheek. “Did you bring any pretty nurses with you?”
Nikki blinked at the dig, but was saved from responding when his eyes fluttered closed. With an irritated sigh, she checked his pulse again. The brute had passed out.
Nikki stood and strode to the back of her extended van. At a signal from one of the Armstrong brothers, workers began lining up at the rear of her vehicle, although they were visibly distracted by all the eye candy around them. The men openly ogled the preening women standing around their vehicles, and blonde, hair-twirling Rachel Hutchins was getting more than her fair share of attention. Giggles and elbow pokes ensued. Nikki groaned inwardly at all the coupling to come, then chided herself. The other women had come looking for love, not to escape a cheating fiancé. She couldn’t begrudge them their fun simply because she didn’t plan to have any.
She’d always wanted to build her own practice, she reminded herself. Here was her chance. While the men unloaded box after box of supplies from her van and headed toward the obviously just-built “boardinghouse,” Nikki took a minute to look around the town of Sweetness.
Which, as far as she could see, consisted of the boardinghouse and some kind of eatery—both constructed with a patchwork of materials—and a hut the Armstrong brothers indicated was their “first-aid station,” all sitting at the crossroads of the paved road they’d driven in on and a red dirt road leading somewhere unknown. The white water tower they’d seen on their long approach, Nikki realized, was a veritable flag warning visitors how far back in time they were traveling. Even in decline, the manufacturing town of Broadway, Michigan, was a bustling metropolis compared to this place.
She’d been duped by a marketing ploy. The name “Sweetness” conjured up lush shade trees, tall glasses of lemonade and white wicker swings. Instead, it was a hot, sticky, dirty, bleak little spot in the road. On a mountain. And from the way the men and women were looking at each other, Sweetness was about to become one big speed-dating pool. And if Porter Armstrong’s reaction to her was any indication, she would be the odd person out.
Which was just as well, since she wasn’t looking for a man.
Really, she wasn’t.
Nikki was suddenly beset with a pang of homesickness for the town and the people she’d left behind. Hot tears stung her eyes. It was the “looking for a fresh start” part of the ad that had caught her attention. But what had she gotten herself into?
Was this what Southerners meant by the saying “out of the frying pan and into the fire”?
Panic gripped her and Nikki considered jumping behind the wheel of the van and peeling out of there—the little nothing of a town was welcome to the supplies already unloaded. She even took a step toward the driver’s side.
Then she caught sight of Porter Armstrong being eased onto a hard plastic stretcher, with his brothers on either side, their body language fraught with concern. And something about the looks that passed between the three men stopped her. It was more than sibling obligation—it was apprehension born of deep affection, an unbreakable bond. And the way the workers responded to the Armstrong men, it was clear their relationship went beyond that of employers and employees—they were family.
Nikki’s heart squeezed. Family—something she lacked. She was all alone in the world. She’d thought her engagement was the first step toward creating her own family, something she craved desperately. It was the main reason her fiancé’s betrayal had shaken her to the core. What the Armstrong brothers were trying to do here—bring together disparate people from different regions of the country to build a community from scratch—was a concept that appealed to her on a base level. She wanted to be a part of this grand experiment. This might be her last chance to form her own family, if not in the traditional sense, then a family of friends and neighbors.
From the stretcher, Porter Armstrong lifted his dark head. “Hey, where’s our doctor?”
Our doctor.
The man was looped on the painkiller, but when his hooded gaze met hers, Nikki’s stomach did a little flip. She blamed the uncharacteristic reaction on her vulnerable emotional state. She had no intention of falling for another man who didn’t want her. But meanwhile, duty called.
“Coming,” she said, then picked up her physician’s bag and strode toward her first patient. The first of many?
Only time would tell.
4
With her heart clicking in her chest, Nikki followed the line of men toward the building they referred to as the “boardinghouse,” staying close to her patient who was being transported on a hard plastic stretcher by his brothers.
Porter Armstrong grinned. “Look at me—I’m the Queen of Sheba being carried around by my servants.”
“I’m
