Baby, Drive South. Stephanie Bond
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of her life, she’d been overlooked as a desirable woman, but she’d found acceptance as a medical professional. She’d hoped she was coming to a place where she could start over as a physician and make a difference. Instead, she’d immediately been reminded she didn’t measure up in the dateable department.
And why was she surprised? The Armstrong brothers, after all, were hoping to attract women who wanted to settle down with their workers…and probably with the Armstrong brothers themselves. So if she decided to stay in this place, she’d have to make peace with the idea that she would be immersed in, surrounded by and inundated with besotted women and hormone-crazed men pairing up like animals headed for the Ark…and that in the midst of the chaos, she would stand alone.
She thought she was okay with the idea of throwing herself into her career and giving up the idea of meeting a man to share her life with. But upon closer inspection, Sweetness was possibly the most unfortunate choice of environment she could’ve made. Considering the comments she’d overheard from the male workers, her ambition of building her own medical practice in Sweetness might be an uphill battle.
So the only practical reason to stay would be if she thought she might be able to achieve…that other thing.
That meeting a man to share her life with thing.
Porter Armstrong’s incredible kiss taunted her, stirring forgotten urges. Nikki inadvertently licked her lips—she could still taste him, could still feel his strong fingers cupped around the nape of her neck and the warmth of his bare, muscular chest beneath her splayed hands.
Then she gave herself a mental shake. The only reason Porter Armstrong had kissed her was because she was there. The man was the exact kind of oaf she’d come here to escape!
Nikki touched her forehead, then checked her watch. She needed to get back to her patient, who most likely wouldn’t even remember the kiss that was messing with her ability to make a rational decision about staying in Sweetness, or getting out—as Southerners were fond of saying—while the getting was good.
6
Porter smiled…he was in the old swimming hole he and Marcus and Kendall had played in when they were boys. He was the best diver and the fastest swimmer. It was the one place he could out-do his older brothers, and he loved to show off. But now no matter how much he kicked, he couldn’t seem to surface. The harder he tried, the more murky the water became, and the more the sticky mud at the bottom pulled at his legs.
As frustration swelled in his chest painfully, he thrashed and clawed at the water, as afraid of embarrassing himself in front of his brothers as losing his life.
“Stop fighting it,” came Marcus’s voice, and suddenly Porter’s arms were rendered to lead. Which only made him work harder.
“Dammit, Porter, stop fighting us and open your eyes.”
As much as he hated doing anything Marcus told him to do, Porter opened his eyes, cringing against the light. He was disoriented, but slowly realized his brothers were holding him down. He grunted and strained against them, his mind reeling.
“Settle down, little brother,” Kendall soothed. “You fell off the water tower and broke your leg. Dr. Salinger put you under sedation to set the bone and apply a cast.”
Porter relaxed as the events of the afternoon flooded back to him. From the shallow angle of the sun coming through the windows, he realized dusk was approaching. He’d missed most of the day. He winced. His head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached, no doubt a result of his fall.
“Dr. Salinger?” he repeated, squinting as the serious face of a tiny, mousy woman came back to him. “Little lady doc?”
“You owe her a big thank-you,” Kendall said, helping him to a sitting position. “If not for her and her van full of supplies, we would’ve had to take you to Atlanta.”
“And you owe her an apology,” Marcus barked.
Porter gave the fiberglass cast on his left leg beneath the split in his work jeans a cursory knock. “What for?” he asked absently, still a little woozy.
“We walked in on you kissing her. She was struggling to get away,” his older brother bellowed. “Are you such a hound dog that you couldn’t keep your hands off the damn doctor?”
Porter squinted. There was a distant recollection of a very nice kiss. He grinned. “What can I say?”
Marcus’s face turned crimson. “You can say you’re sorry, you idget!”
“It was just a kiss,” Porter protested.
“It was inappropriate,” Kendall admonished.
“She’s already skittish about being the only doctor in town—with no facilities,” Marcus said. “We can’t afford to lose her because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Porter scoffed. “Come on, Marcus. She probably enjoyed it. From what I remember of the little lady doc, she looked like she hasn’t been kissed all that much. The woman probably has her nose stuck in a book most of the time, and sleeps with her cat.”
At the sound of a door closing, Porter swung his head around to see the topic of their conversation standing there. The woman was tiny—five feet two inches, max—with a figure as slim as a weeping willow branch in stiff khakis and a white button-up shirt. Her mousy-colored hair was falling into her eyes, still damp from a recent shower. The black medical bag she held in one hand looked like it might topple her over. In the other hand, she held a pair of crutches that were almost as tall as she was. Her pale face was free of makeup, highlighting the rings of exhaustion under her eyes. And from the bright pink tinge in her cheeks, she’d obviously heard his comment.
Remorse barbed through Porter’s chest. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she straightened and moved toward them like a miniature steamroller.
“How’s my patient?” she asked cheerfully.
“Fine,” the brothers answered in three-part harmony. Porter shot his brothers an annoyed look.
“I’m fine,” he said more forcefully.
Kendall cleared his throat meaningfully.
“Thank you,” Porter added, “for…everything.”
She gave a curt nod and handed the crutches off to Kendall. “Let’s get you on your feet, Mr. Armstrong.”
She positioned herself on one side of him and Marcus stepped on the other side.
Porter surveyed her slight frame. “No offense, little lady doc, but maybe Kendall should do this instead of you.”
Her pointed chin came up. She had green eyes—rather pretty green eyes. “I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Armstrong.”
Feeling put in his place, Porter lifted one arm around Marcus’s shoulders, and settled one arm around hers. A jolt of awareness ripped through his body at the feel of her skin beneath his, catching him off guard. She was a tiny thing, with the bone structure of a songbird. She barely came up to his armpit, but true to her word, when he eased to his feet, she bore his weight as well as his big brother. She smelled like wildflowers, fresh and clean. Her hair brushed his chin with the satiny caress of a butterfly wing. His body started to respond, but the memory of a similar reaction when she’d cut his pant leg flashed back to him. He hardened his jaw to get his body under control. Marcus was right—the woman deserved more respect. When he was standing, albeit awkwardly, Kendall grabbed the crutches and gave them to him, allowing Marcus and the doctor to step away.
But when she slipped out from under his arm and took her womanly aromas with her, Porter felt her absence acutely.
“Take a couple of steps,” she encouraged.
Maybe it was because he felt like such a heel for the comment he’d made, but he suddenly wanted to please this woman.
He shifted his weight to his good leg,