learned that an encyclopedic mind lay behind the doctor’s charming facade. He knew dosages, drugs and protocols—medical treatment plans—by heart; contraindications and advisability results rolled off his tongue as smoothly as the alphabet. The receptionist was constantly paging him; doctors from across the country regularly called to ask his advice about one protocol or another. By slyly peeking at his telephone messages, Jacquelyn learned that Jonah Martin was involved in an ongoing study at Johns Hopkins and another at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. In the mornings when Jacquelyn arrived at the clinic, he was already on the phone in his office, and he remained busy when she left in the evening, long after the clinic had closed to patients.
A masculine force enveloped him, a great presence fostered by his striking good looks and enthralling blue eyes. Jacquelyn could not deny that he was intelligent, powerful and charismatic—when he chose to be. But he was also enigmatic, quick-tempered and, she suspected, more than a little dangerous. He generated awe wherever he went, but in the beginning, she reasoned, so had a lot of people….
Jacquelyn shook the thought away as she started her dishwasher and tried to concentrate on getting ready for a day at the lake.
She wanted to dislike him, but she couldn’t. He was too good a doctor. She would have settled for a decided feeling of apathy toward him, but her heart quickened every time his gaze met hers. She told herself her body was only reacting to residual anger from their first confrontation, but why did her heart hammer foolishly on the occasions he called specifically for her? He radiated a vitality that drew her like a magnet, but she told herself the attraction sprang from his unusual commitment to excellence and his uncommon caring for his patients. He was a good doctor, even if his behavior sometimes seemed as erratic and threatening as a summer storm.
For the first time in five years she had begun to see oncology as an exciting and rewarding field. Medicine, as seen through the eyes of Jonah Martin, involved more than cutting, burning and rebuilding. It involved healing.
Patients who had given up hope began to go into remission under his protocols, and every time good news came back from the lab, Dr. Martin’s eyes gleamed as if each patient were the first he’d successfully treated. He held impromptu celebrations for happy patients in the employee lunchroom and had the nurses send congratulatory cards to those whose cancer had entered remission. Not only did he congratulate the “winners,” but he also sent cards of encouragement to patients who were still struggling through chemo or the prospect of more surgery.
At first, Jacquelyn rebelled at the thought of hand-addressing cards. “Doesn’t he know we have these names and addresses in the computer?” she griped to Gaynel at the front desk. “And that long ago someone invented a wonderful thing called a mailing label?” But then patients began to show up in the office with his cards clutched in their hands and stuffed into their purses, and Jacquelyn realized that the patients appreciated Dr. Martin’s unconventional beyond-the-office attention. Personal greeting cards were silly, senseless and totally inefficient in light of the other paperwork the nurses had to maintain, but the patients loved them. And since something so simple apparently meant so much, Jacquelyn decided the extra effort wasn’t too much to ask.
She sighed and gazed out her kitchen window. At least she could go home at the end of the day. And in her cozy little house she could forget about Jonah Martin and enter the world of Craig Bishop. Compared to the unsettling Dr. Martin, Craig was as comfortable as an old slipper. And before saying goodbye when he called on Saturday night, Craig had promised that absolutely nothing would stand in the way of their Monday picnic. Jacquelyn looked forward to a lazy, sunlit day by the lake.
True to his word, Craig pulled into her driveway at 9:00 a.m. Though his mouth puckered in annoyance when Jacquelyn picked up Bailey’s leash and snapped it to the dog’s collar, he said nothing. Jacquelyn had adopted the dog from a mastiff rescue organization six months before, and she’d already grown closer to the animal than she would have ever dreamed possible. Sometimes, she told Craig as she picked up a water bowl from the kitchen sink, she felt like the huge puppy was almost human. He seemed to sense her moods, her feelings, and he was always there…which was, Jacquelyn reminded Craig, more than she could say about him.
“You know I have to work odd hours,” Craig said, throwing up a hand in defense.
“I understand, and I don’t mind,” Jacquelyn answered, winding the long leash into her palm. “But I like having someone around. And it’s not fair that we should go out while Bailey stays cooped up in the house all day.” Jacquelyn led the gentle giant out onto the front porch. “He won’t be a bit of trouble, Craig. He’ll probably just run around in the sun and then lie down for a nice, long nap.”
“Just bring a blanket to protect the car’s upholstery,” Craig said, sighing heavily as he followed her down the front porch steps. “I was hoping to sell this car tomorrow morning, but if you bring that dog, I’ll have to vacuum it tonight.”
“I know you well enough to know you’d vacuum it anyway, dog or no dog,” Jacquelyn said, opening the door of the sporty convertible. Bailey took one look at the small space that passed for a backseat, then turned questioning eyes toward his mistress. “It’s okay, puppy,” Jacquelyn murmured in soothing tones. She cast a devilish look toward Craig. “Uncle Craig won’t mind if you rest your chin on his shoulder.”
Craig shook his head, then turned back into the house. “Where do you keep those little hand towels?” he asked, taking the front steps two at a time. “I’m not wearing dog drool to my meeting tonight. Honestly, Jacquelyn, the things I endure for you…”
Jacquelyn reached in to pull the front seat forward, then urged Bailey into the car. When the huge dog had gingerly seated himself, Jacquelyn slid into the front passenger seat and made a face. “Well, this is cozy,” she murmured, noticing that she would be riding a scant five inches above the pavement. “I’ll never understand why men are so crazy about sports cars.”
Immediately, the image of Jonah Martin and his Mustang focused in her memory. His car wasn’t as sporty as this one, but the same macho tendency toward fast speeds and sleek lines must reside somewhere in his psyche. Thank goodness Craig’s personal car was a nice, safe, boxy something-or-other.
Craig appeared a moment later, a small towel draped neatly over his right shoulder. For an instant he looked like one of the harried fathers Jacquelyn used to see coming from the nursery at her church—babies on their arms, spit-up rags on their shoulders. The image suited Craig so poorly that she nearly laughed aloud. Craig Bishop wasn’t ready for children. He kept insisting he wasn’t ready for marriage, but Jacquelyn knew she could make him change his mind. After all, nine months ago when they met he had assured her that he had no time for a steady girlfriend, and within two dates he’d been calling her every night and sending flowers every weekend. The next steps—marriage and children—well, she’d sway him toward those things as easily as she’d persuaded him to allow Bailey to come along on the picnic.
Jacquelyn was in no hurry. At twenty-eight, she had already battled and defeated the “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” disappointment. She would marry when and if it pleased her, and she’d marry Craig or someone like him. Someone logical, efficient and charming. Someone who wouldn’t mind her career, her dog, or her aversion to cooking.
“All right, I think that takes care of everything.” Craig slipped into the driver’s seat and paused a moment to glare at Bailey, then shook his head again. “Jacquelyn, I’ll never understand how a rational woman can lose every shred of sanity when it comes to a dog—”
“The same way a man can lose all his reason when he adores a woman,” she answered sweetly. She placed a protective hand on Bailey’s collar. “And Bailey is not just any dog. He’s a
