CHAPTER ONE

      DR ELIZABETH MORGAN stepped out the car, transfixed at the hustle and bustle in front of her. The desert heat of California smothered her skin like a blanket, making her damp blouse stick to her back. Rivulets of perspiration trickled between her breasts.

      What was she doing here? She glanced wistfully at the driver as he unloaded her suitcases, tempted for a moment to tell him not to bother. She’d made a mistake, changed her mind—would he please take her back to Los Angeles International Airport? And straight onto a flight back to England.

      But she couldn’t do that.

      Wiping the dust from her face with a tired hand, Elizabeth took a deep steadying breath. Right—the director must be somewhere amongst the crowd of people. Dragging her cases behind her, she picked her way along the rutted dusty ground, her feet throbbing in her unsuitable high heels. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Weren’t all movies made in a studio? Not out in the back of beyond near Palm Desert in what must be a rundown mining town. Hardly the glamour and sophistication she’d envisaged.

      Not that she could bring herself to care. It was all she could do these days to put one foot in front of the other. If it hadn’t been for the fact she’d known she would go crazy if she stayed in London, she would never have taken this job. Doctor on a Hollywood film set was as far away from what she used to do as it was possible to get. At least here there were no constant memories of the life she once led. And that was its attraction.

      She screwed her eyes up against the harsh midday sun. Filming was in full swing, it appeared. Cameramen were perched high on top of mobile cameras, people stood in clusters, talking animatedly, and around what appeared to be the central filming area, large aluminium caravans stretched almost as far as the eye could see.

      Just then a horse cantered by, kicking up dust and with someone clinging precariously to its neck. Elizabeth watched, heart in mouth, as the rider seemed to lose what little balance he had and slid further off the horse, before landing with a thump on the ground.

      Elizabeth paused only to pick up her medical bag. Judging by the way the rider had fallen, he was bound to be badly hurt.

      But to her amazement, before she had even crossed the few yards to his side, the man was on his feet, wiping dust from his trousers with a nonchalant flick of his cowboy hat.

      ‘How was that, Philip?’ he called out in an American accent. ‘Was that realistic enough for you?’

      Elizabeth slowed to a walk. He was big this man, well over six foot and powerfully muscled. He was wearing faded jeans that clung disconcertingly to his thighs and cowboy boots with spurs. He had short brown hair and a wide mouth and had such an air of masculine assurance about him that instinctively Elizabeth knew this was a man who broke hearts. Was he one of the actors? Silly question—he was bound to be.

      He stopped swatting the dust from his clothes as she approached, and gave her a long slow stare. Then he grinned, showing even white teeth. If he carried on riding horses like that, Elizabeth thought testily, he wouldn’t have perfect teeth for much longer.

      ‘Howdy, ma’am. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kendrick,’ he said, holding out his hand.

      Elizabeth’s fingers were enveloped in his. For some reason the way he was looking at her was making her heart race. Then again, she had got a fright. She’d really thought that the way this man had fallen from the horse meant she would be fixing him up and calling an ambulance. And all before she’d even unpacked.

      ‘Dr Elizabeth Morgan,’ she replied. ‘I’m the doctor for the set. Are you all right? Maybe you should sit down.’ She glanced around. The only place she could see was a couple of camping chairs outside a trailer a few yards away. What if he collapsed before she got him there? She’d never be able to support a man of his size. ‘Actually, back on the ground will do while I look you over.’

      His grin grew wider. ‘Now, come to think of it, ma’am, I think I did hurt my shoulder. Maybe you should have a quick look-see?’

      Before she could say anything he whipped off the dust-smeared cambric shirt he was wearing, revealing a bronzed chest with a number of scars. His torso was muscled, not overly so but enough for Elizabeth to be able to detect each individual ridge. He wore his jeans low on his hips, and his abdomen was taut, with a fine sprinkling of dark hair disappearing into the waistband. She blinked.

      This was a man who was perfectly aware of the effect he had on women—other women that was. He’d find out soon enough that she was immune to any man.

      ‘I really do think you should sit down, Mr …?’ she said. The ridiculous way her pulse was behaving you’d think it was her who had just fallen off a horse.

      ‘It’s Kendrick. No one calls anyone here by their last name. You might be all formal in England …’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You are from England, right?’ When she nodded he continued. ‘But we all use first names here, Lizzie.’

      ‘It’s Elizabeth. And I’d prefer you to call me Dr Morgan,’ Elizabeth responded stiffly. When he quirked an eyebrow at her she flushed. Damn the man. Everything about him made her feel at a disadvantage. ‘Now, which shoulder did you hurt?’

      He stepped closer until he seemed almost to