I just can’t imagine anyone doing it to someone as smart as you.”
Heather had given him plenty of looks in the short time they’d been acquainted with each other, but this was one he hadn’t seen yet. Shining in those incredible eyes was a combination of gratitude and astonishment. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but she’d finally quit glaring at him, so he figured that was a good sign.
“You think I’m smart?” When he nodded, she shook her head with a quick laugh. “Most guys can’t see past the blond hair and blue eyes. What makes you so different?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he was quick to correct her, “you’re cute as a button. But Erin threatened me with grave bodily harm if I even thought about making a play for you.”
“Really?” Now those eyes gleamed with something he’d seen plenty of in his lifetime: feminine interest. “And if she hadn’t?”
“We’d be having dinner tonight.”
For some reason, she laughed. “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, country boy. What makes you think I’d say yes even if you were allowed to ask me out?”
“I don’t know, darlin’,” he drawled with a lazy grin. “Past experience?”
“You realize that sounds arrogant, right?”
“Confident,” he corrected her smoothly as they arrived at the front porch of a light gray cottage with white shutters. “After all, I’m a Kinley boy.”
“Meaning?”
Grinning, he went up the steps and opened the screen door for her. “Ask around town. I’m sure you’ll find out all you wanna know.”
“Please,” she scoffed, rolling those gorgeous baby blues. “I’m too busy to waste my time with gossip. I’ll just figure it out on my own.”
“I take it that means you’re planning to stay in Oaks Crossing awhile.”
“It depends on how Bailey does here, so I’m still working on that one. I guess we’ll have to see.”
“I guess we will.”
His response got him another curious look, but she didn’t say anything more as she went through the screen door he opened for her. Following her inside, he had to admit that Heather Fitzgerald was the most intriguing woman he’d ever run across. Nothing like the sweet, uncomplicated girls he preferred, she had the kind of depth a laid-back guy like him was probably safer admiring from a respectable distance.
It was a good thing Erin had proclaimed her off-limits, he mused with a grin. Otherwise, he might have been tempted to bridge that gap and discover what it was about her that made him want to break the rules.
Heather went through Josh’s front door and into a living room that clearly announced the owner wasn’t around much. The couch and mismatched chairs looked old, the throw pillows were faded and the windows were unblocked by drapes. Through an open side door, she glimpsed a bedroom that looked as if it had recently been through a mini tornado.
In short, the single-story cottage was the very definition of a bachelor pad. Then she noticed the collection of framed pictures on the dusty mantel and walked over for a better look. The people in them bore an unmistakable resemblance to one another, and she smiled at the scenes of picnics and muddy backyard football games. In one, a much younger version of her new boss, Erin, was standing atop a pyramid, arms extended in triumph. Recognizing Josh on the bottom row, Heather asked, “How old were you in this one?”
“Oh, thirteen maybe. Those are my older brothers, Mike and Drew, on either side of me. Right after Mom got this shot, the foundation guys pulled out, and everyone but Erin landed in a pile on top of us. The princess ended up breaking her arm.”
“That wasn’t very nice of you.”
Unfazed by her scolding, he chuckled. “You should’ve heard what she was yelling at the time. That wasn’t very nice, either.”
Heather hadn’t met all the Kinleys yet, but from what she’d gathered, they were one of those big, raucous families that had a lot of fun together. She’d been so occupied by their move that getting acquainted with the rest of Erin’s family hadn’t been a priority for her before. But now Heather found herself looking forward to meeting the rest of the clan.
“All right,” she said briskly, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s get that hand cleaned up so you don’t scare the doctor half to death when you show up at his office.”
“I really can drive myself,” Josh argued while she rummaged through a small bank of cupboards for a clean towel and some peroxide. “You don’t have to babysit me like I’m ten.”
Heather glanced out the window at his vintage green pickup and then gave him a raised-eyebrow look. “I’m guessing that monster has a standard transmission?”
“Yeah. So?”
In answer, she dabbed at the slice cutting across his palm that still hadn’t stopped bleeding and held a thick gauze pad in place before wrapping a thin dish towel around his hand. Leveling a stern glare at this unexpectedly stubborn man, she announced, “You’re not using this hand until it’s been stitched and dressed by a professional. Period, end of story.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Good, then I must be doing it right.” Tying the makeshift bandage to keep it in place, she grabbed the keys from their hook by the back door. “Now, let’s go. I have plenty of other patients waiting for me at the clinic.”
In truth, she didn’t know that for certain, but she was hoping that the softhearted farmer’s affection for the animals would nudge him to get moving in the right direction. He didn’t protest any further, which she was grateful for, and they walked out to his truck together. She wasn’t used to dealing with patients who talked back, and it was more than a little unsettling.
This one surprised her by strolling to the driver’s door and opening it for her. Considering the fact that he was probably miffed at her right now, the gentlemanly gesture made her smile. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Doc Sheppard’s on Main Street, up a ways from the Oaks Café, right across from the park. It’s a big old Victorian, gray with a red front door and black trim around the windows. You can’t miss it.”
Armed with those directions, Heather engaged the clutch, dropped the truck into Reverse and stepped on the gas. With a stomach-rolling lurch, the pickup flew backward for several yards before her reflexes kicked in and she managed to slam on the brakes.
“Not a word,” she cautioned, easing the shifter into first gear.
He obliged her, but she could almost feel him grinning at her. When she flicked a look toward him, he pulled a sober face that did nothing to mask the humor glinting in his eyes. Deciding to let her irritation go, she focused on moving through the gears on the old truck without shredding the transmission. By the time they got to town, she had the hang of it and parked in a small lot beside a graceful old home with a wrought iron signpost that read Henry Sheppard,
