KRISTI GOLD

      began her romance-writing career at the tender age of twelve, when she and her sister spun romantic yarns involving a childhood friend and a popular talk-show host. Since that time, she’s given up celebrity heroes for her favorite types of men, doctors and cowboys, as her husband is both. An avid sports fan, she attends football and baseball games in her spare time. She resides on a small ranch in central Texas with her three children and retired neurosurgeon husband, along with various livestock ranging from Texas longhorn cattle to spoiled yet talented equines. At one time she competed in regional and national Appaloosa horse shows as a nonpro, but she gave up riding for writing and turned the “reins” over to her youngest daughter. She attributes much of her success to her sister, Kim, who encouraged her in her writing, even during the tough times. When she’s not in her office writing her current book, she’s dreaming about it. Readers may contact Kristi at P.O. Box 11292, Robinson, TX 76116.

      To my husband, Steve,

       who has shown me the true and loving heart of a healer

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      One

      Administering physical therapy had always been a challenge Brooke Lewis readily embraced, but the anger in her new patient’s you-want-me blue eyes and the defiance in his here-I-am stance, made her want to run for the nearest fast-food joint for employment. Or to her boss, Macy Carpenter, armed with a noose.

      Dr. Jared Granger, “King of Cardiology”—the man she had shamelessly fantasized about from afar—had graced her with his presence. And not one solitary soul in the department had bothered to warn her.

      Many times she’d admired him as he strode through San Antonio Memorial’s corridors in his impeccably starched lab coat, wearing his gorgeous golden hair, cut in the latest style, and a guarded expression that discouraged any kind of communication. It came with the territory, she supposed. Anyone who held life in his hands on a daily basis wasn’t necessarily approachable.

      But since the recent injury that had suspended his career, he had obviously changed. Now his sandy hair was askew, and his normally clean-shaven face sported a near-full beard. His ragged jeans with one leg cut away revealed a cast on his left leg. Overall, his attire looked as though it had seen better days. But then, so did he. From all appearances he could be a drifter, not a doctor.

      And for the past few weeks his uncooperative behavior had grown to legendary proportions in the physical therapy department. Brooke had managed to avoid his wrath. Until now.

      Not to mention she would have to touch him, and although that certainly wasn’t an unpleasant prospect under normal circumstances, she had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to be too receptive.

      She opened her mouth, but words didn’t form. Nothing seemed quite adequate at the moment.

      Smiling, she gestured toward the chair facing hers. “Nice you could join us today, Dr. Granger. Please be seated.”

      Without speaking, he hobbled over with his lone crutch and sank into the chair, sprawling his broken leg awkwardly to one side as he propped his splinted hand on the small table’s surface in arm-wrestling position. She pulled the curtain around the area to give them some privacy, away from the prying eyes of both patients and therapists throughout the large treatment room.

      When Brooke faced him, he flashed her a sardonic grin. “So you’re my next victim.”

      The impact of that smile, no matter how cynical, did things to her heart rate that made her wonder if she needed a round of digitalis. Thank heavens she was close to the chair before her knees gave way. After taking her seat across from him, she said, “Victim? That should be my line.”

      Brooke opened the chart to review the assessment and treatment plan along with the notes of his limited progress. Victim proved to be an appropriate description. He’d already been through three therapists in three weeks, and it looked as if she was his last resort.

      Glancing up, Brooke found him staring at her, watching, waiting. Waiting for her to screw up, she decided. But his visual assessment made her wonder if that was all he was waiting for. Considering his reputation with women, he probably expected her to pass out from a charisma overdose. Well, he had another thing coming. She’d keep her covert admiration to herself and a tight rein on her hormones.

      With a polite smile she closed the chart and set it on the end of the table. “I’m Brooke Lewis, and it looks like we’ll be working together for some time, Dr. Gran—”

      “Don’t count on it.” He displayed more insolence through the hard set of his eyes and the tight ridge