his ankles, only inches from her legs. He swore he could feel the heat of her, his legs getting all twitchy. What was it about this woman, that close proximity gave him an immediate physical reaction?
“How do I know you’re qualified to run my office? It takes a special kind of person to work for me. What makes you think you’re that person?”
“Confidence.”
“In what?”
“Myself.”
“Impressive, but can you tell me who Buzz Lightyear’s sidekick is in Toy Story?”
Maggie grinned at him, her amazing eyes sparkling with a bit of wickedness. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to think of the answer or tickled that he’d asked such a childish question. Either way, Blake had her full attention.
Her smile revealed a slight dimple in her left cheek. He was a sucker for dimples, which made this little game they were playing even more perilous. He wanted to get to know her better—much better—but getting to know this kind of woman wasn’t a tangle he needed to get caught up in ever again.
Still, there was something Country about her, something easy she kept hidden under all that city slicker show.
“Sheriff Woody. My favorite character, by the way.”
He leaned in with the defining question, even though anyone listening would probably just laugh. Everything depended on her answer. “Do you own a pair of cowboy boots?”
“No…”
She looked hesitant.
Darn it all, he couldn’t hire a woman who didn’t own a pair of cowboy boots. They were a necessity in these parts, like a Leatherman tool or a trophy buckle. That fact alone proved she was just like his ex, and he didn’t want or need a woman like her anywhere around him. Way too many bad memories of her disgust of everything Country.
“But my sister does, in an array of colors for some odd reason. We wear the same size, so in that sense, I’d have to amend my answer and say yes. I have access to cowboy boots. Why? Are they part of the job description?”
“I’d have to say they are.”
She scooted up straight in her chair, crossing her fine legs under the table. “My sister never mentioned it.”
He felt certain this was the stickler. “Huh. Can’t figure why not. It’s what we wear.”
“Your office has a dress code?”
“Strictly enforced.” Not exactly true, but now he was desperate.
“Anything else I should know about?”
His mind raced to think of something, anything, that this temptation in heels might not like, but mud had once again settled in parts of his head and he couldn’t seem to come up with a thing.
He knew he could save himself a whole lotta grief if he simply hired Mrs. Abernathy, the seventy-year-old ex-nurse who had offered to take the job. Unfortunately, Kitty had already warned him not to do it. Mrs. Abernathy was inflexible in her ways and tone deaf. No way could she sing to his patients or run the office the way Kitty had set it up.
He wondered if Maggie could hold a tune. “We sometimes have to sing to the patients.”
“I don’t sing. Completely tone deaf.”
Her answer was his out. His escape hatch. His adios, amigo. Even Kitty would agree on this one.
Maggie stared at him, looking all pretty in the morning sun, and Blake had to admit a part of him wanted nothing more than to have her around for the next fifty years. But the danger of falling for someone so like his ex-wife meant grabbing the branding iron by the hot end, and he was not in the mood for another round of hurt.
Blake stalled for a time, pretending he was chewing on her answer, while he screwed up his flailing courage.
He had thought moving back to the family ranch in eastern Idaho with his dad and brothers would have slowed his life down, especially after living in L.A. for several years, but it had been nothing like that. When Blake had arrived in Briggs, he’d hit the ground running, and he’d been going nonstop ever since. Maggie Daniels was the kind of woman who would only tangle up his spurs, and at this point, he wasn’t sure he was up for the challenge.
Just then his phone chimed. “Excuse me,” he said. The phone’s screen illuminated the name Lindsey Luntz. Her thirteen-year-old son, Chad, was a patient of Blake’s. Chad was having difficulty adjusting to his new braces and he probably needed a “cheer up, buckaroo” talk, which would take some time, knowing Chad. Blake took the call, but asked Mrs. Luntz to hold.
“I have to take this,” he told Maggie. Then, as though he didn’t have anything under his hat but hair, he said, “See you in the morning. Eight-thirty?”
She nodded.
“Kitty can tell you the rest.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Feeling muddy-headed again, he tried to get his wits honed back to concentrate on the waiting Mrs. Luntz.
Blake watched as Maggie pushed herself up from the chair, gave him a little smile, turned and walked away.
He stared after her as she sashayed into the doughnut shop. The woman had one of those walks that made a man stare—hips gently swaying, elegant legs careful of each step in her fancy high heels, straight back and hair that glistened in the sunlight. Desire swept through him.
His breath caught in his throat and he found it difficult to wrest his gaze from Maggie until he heard Mrs. Luntz calling his name. “Doc Blake? Are you there? Doctor? Darn these phones.”
* * *
MAGGIE WALKED INTO Holey Rollers and ordered a double cappuccino, dry, and a blueberry muffin. She wanted something decadent with sprinkles to celebrate the occasion, but her hips didn’t need it. Once she’d turned thirty, everything she ate seemed to stick to her hips.
Despite that misfortune, Maggie knew she still had it, could still turn a man’s head when she wanted to. The good doctor had proven that. She had seen the attraction in his eyes. Heard it in his voice.
Sure, she had other job applications out, but the likelihood of any of them coming through was remote. Still, she felt she had to tell him the truth and rely on her looks to get him to hire her anyway.
Maggie couldn’t hide the fact that the overly judgmental world labeled her as beautiful. She didn’t dwell on it, rather, it was a truth she had come to accept. Still, more than anything, she had always wanted to be treated like a normal girl—a buddy other women could confide in, or a girlfriend to some sweet guy who loved to cuddle on the sofa, eat popcorn drenched in real butter and watch old movies.
Regrettably, she had little experience with any of those things.
Ever since she could remember, she had been the outcast in any group of girls, the cufflink on the man with power and the catch for the guy who wanted to elevate his social status.
Her
