Kissed By The Country Doc

All due to embarrassment, naturally.

She sneaked a glance at Noah, testing her embarrassment theory.

His black hair was long and pushed back from his face, brushing his collar in loose waves. He had a full, short, dark beard and broad shoulders. His brow had been furrowed since she’d walked in and his eyebrows were on permanent ground patrol over his blue eyes. He’d seemed different than the rest of the men in the coffee shop. Or maybe it was just that he held himself stiffly, as if he considered himself an outsider.

Ella could relate. She’d spent most of her middle and high-school years feeling like an outsider, a foster child with a few friends and a drawer of hand-me-down clothes. She’d since filled her closet, but after what had happened at the reading of Harlan’s will, she wasn’t sure of her future as a Monroe. If she couldn’t make a market assessment Bryce’s cousins approved of would they shut her out of the family, too?

Her attention drifted to Noah. His clothes were new. That wasn’t what kept him apart from the others. It was the black leather gloves, she decided. That, and the soulful look in his eyes.

Their gazes connected, and Ella lost track of her breath. The lack of oxygen combined with awkwardness heated her cheeks. The embarrassment theory was holding water.

Embarrassment and the fact that he’s gorgeous and looks at me as if I wasn’t the kind of woman to eat a package of Penny’s cheese and crackers for breakfast.

The Bent Nickel diner was a throwback to a simpler time. Green-and-white checked linoleum tiles. Chrome bar stools with mint-green vinyl seats. Forest green vinyl booths and worn white Formica tabletops. Framed photos crowded the walls, mostly black-and-white pictures of people in front of cabins and vintage cars.

There were elementary-age kids gathered around the L-shaped counter and a booth beside it. Schoolbooks, notebooks and laptops were stacked or open. Tall milkshake glasses and baskets of French fries were distributed among them. Between the chatter they spared amused glances toward Andrew and Alexander, Sophie’s twin boys, who were holding a spinning race on their bar stools.

“Me, too.” Penny patted Ella’s arm and then pointed to the twins. “Me, too.”

Penny didn’t have the arm strength to spin herself. Ella turned Penny’s bar stool in a slow circle.

“Whoa.” Penny’s eyes got huge. When her back was to the counter she had nothing to hold on to, particularly when she had an apple fry in one hand and a potato fry in the other. That didn’t stop her from saying, “Again,” when she’d completed one circuit.

Ella turned her stool a second time, aware of Noah’s gaze upon them.

“Woof.” Penny was halfway around on the stool. She pointed out the window and dropped the potato fry. “Uh-oh.”

Ella stopped spinning as she realized what Penny had seen—a yellow dog with an uneven gait. “Someone’s dog is outside.”

“That’s a Labrasnoodle.” Roy moved toward the window. “Does it belong to one of you Monroes? It’s one of them designer dogs. A Labrapoo or Doodledoo or something.”

“We brought kids,” Shane said loftily. “Not dogs.”

“The dog’s limping.” Roy peered to the side. “Come on, Doc. Looks like someone dumped a dog out here again.” Roy glanced back at Noah.

Ella and Sophie exchanged raised-eyebrow glances, as if thinking the same thing: What was a young veterinarian doing in an old town like this?

Noah didn’t get up. “I’m a surgeon, not a vet.” His fingers flexed.

Ella and Sophie continued to be perplexed: What was a young surgeon doing in an old town like this?

A yellow, curly-haired Labradoodle placed two large paws on the diner’s window, peeked inside, barked once and then dropped back to all fours.

“Woof,” Penny barked again.

Her antics made the twins giggle and a preteen girl with braces say, “Ahhh, how cute.”

Roy opened the door and the dog burst in, along with a surge of cold air. His feet scrambled for purchase and he slipped and slid around the room, managing to gobble up Penny’s fry on the floor before he crashed into Noah almost the same way Penny had done.

The dog put his big paws on Noah’s sturdy thighs, then he exhibited a panting grin that passed over every human in the room before settling on Noah. Immediately, he was surrounded by eight schoolchildren eager to pet the dog and take a photo with their tablets.

“Isn’t this against some kind of health code?” Shane asked from one of the dark green booths. He was nursing a cup of black coffee and reading a thin local pamphlet on real estate for sale in the area.

Ella made a mental note to get a copy for herself.

“In winter, the health codes are more like guidelines.” Roy thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “And in winter the Bent Nickel is more like Ivy’s family room.”

“Talk like that will get me shut down quicker than the wind whips down this stretch of road during a blizzard,” Ivy snapped. And then her tone softened. “I’d prefer to report that Doc’s therapy dog came in the diner today. Just keep him out of the kitchen.”

“I’ll get you a bag of dog food, Doc.” A tall woman grabbed her coat and hurried out the door.

“He’s not mine.” Noah sounded put out.

Roy put his hands on his knees and bent to peer at the canine. “He’s not putting any weight on that back foot. Why do you think that is, Doc?”

Noah shook his head. “Again, not a vet.”

Mitch cut his way through the crowd and ran his hands around the dog’s neck. “I saw this guy outside earlier. He wouldn’t come to me and he doesn’t have a collar.”

Most of the kids drifted back to the counter and their food.

Laurel had recovered enough from being carsick to get up and go over to pet the dog. “He might be microchipped.”

“Not likely if he don’t have a collar.” Roy sat down by the fire and whistled for the dog. “We’ve had folks dump pets out here before. Sad way to treat a member of the family.”

Ella’s compassion for the dog increased.

“Woof.” Penny’s eyes were huge. She’d never seen such a large dog before.

The dog heard Penny and wagged his big tail, but he didn’t move from his position in Noah’s lap.

“Come on, boy.” Roy whistled again, slapping his thin thighs. “Dogs love me.”

The dog wasn’t budging from Noah.

“Maybe he’s deaf,” Roy said brightly. He had the kind of attitude that nothing could bring down, not even a blizzard.

The dog turned his head to smile at Roy.

“He’s made up his mind.” Roy stood. “Dogs have a way of choosing people and he seems to have chosen you, Doc.”

Noah sighed and stared into the dog’s big brown eyes. “Are we really going to do this?”

The dog bumped his big nose against Noah’s chin, making all the children laugh.

Noah ran his gloved hands over the dog’s torso and down each of his front legs. And then he ran his hand down the leg the dog held off the ground.

The poor boy yelped and somehow—big as he was—managed to climb completely into Noah’s lap.

“Best take him to your clinic,” Roy said. “He might need surgery.”

Noah blanched.

“While you take care of the dog, Noah, I’ll check in our guests.” Mitch gestured that they should follow him, which was easier said than done. Everyone had to bundle up first.

Shane drove the SUV two businesses down from the diner and parked, while Laurel, Sophie and Ella ushered the kids along the shoveled walk.

The diner, the general store, with its two gas pumps and a single-bay garage, and the inn had all been built along the river and had enough space between the two-lane highway and the buildings for a vehicle to pull in and park perpendicular to the road. There was a narrow sidewalk from one building to another covered by a slanted roof to offer some protection against the elements, although not the cold.

There were small log-cabin houses up and down the highway, many of which looked forlorn and deserted. There were many buildings on the other side of the road, both new and old. A huge log cabin sat on the corner and butted against another small highway, across from which was a small church and a building with a cupola and bell.

Ella didn’t relish doing a market assessment with so many buildings spread out and heavy snow in the forecast. Would she have to shovel her way to every door?

The icy wind blew strong enough to chafe Ella’s cheeks and sweep Penny’s feet out from under her.

Ella kept her daughter upright but shrugged deeper into her stadium jacket. “I hate cold.”

“You should come live near me in Southern California.” Laurel wrapped her thin leather jacket tighter around her chest. “Since you have to move.”

“Don’t take her away from me,” Sophie countered. “I’m determined to get a job at the museum in downtown Philadelphia.” Sophie had been the Monroes’ art-collection curator.

Yes, the collection was so large it needed a manager.

“Cold, Mom.” Penny raised her arms to be lifted into Ella’s.

They hurried past the garage and then climbed the stairs onto the wood porch, which spanned the length of the inn, and went inside.

The Lodgepole Inn was a long, two-story log cabin wedged between the highway and a bend in the river. The logs used to build the cabin hadn’t been planed. Their curving girth took an extra foot off the interior on every exterior wall, making the large space seem cozier somehow.

“How big is this place?” Ella asked while Mitch checked her in.

“The Lodgepole Inn has ten rooms upstairs and two suites downstairs.” Mitch had thick black hair and a cautious smile, one that you didn’t usually find in politicians or innkeepers. He swiped Ella’s credit card and returned it to her. “My daughter and I run the place.”

Penny and her cousins ran around the great room, which had a comfy couch covered in a blue-and-brown quilt, several high-backed chairs, a large TV on the wall and a big rock fireplace, the kind pioneers used to cook in but with hearth seats built into either side. The kids squealed and released pent-up energy from hours spent on a plane and in a vehicle.

“How charming,” Sophie said, giving herself a tour of the main room.

“Our inn used to be a brothel for the miners.” A preteen girl with pale strawberry blond hair, braces and her father’s cautious smile handed Ella a metal key attached to a thin strip of wood that had the words Blue Bonnet carved in it.

“Gabby,” Mitch gently chastised. “That’s not the way we market the Lodgepole Inn.”

The preteen shrugged. “I did a paper on the history of the town.”

“We don’t know for sure it was a brothel,” Mitch said apologetically, as if it might matter to the Monroes. “Some people say it was a barracks for the cavalry. I can tell from the architecture it was originally two large, two-story cabins with a stable in between. You’ll see several different types of cabins in town—round-log, square-log and brick.”

“Our round-log inn was a brothel.” Gabby frowned at her father. “I even footnoted it in my report.”

“I’d like to read it.” Ella’s interest was sincere. History added value to property. The information the lawyer had given her included when structures were built and what their exterior dimensions were, but not much else.

Mitch’s smile hardened at her request. “Ella, if you need anything let us know.” He waved a hand toward the stairs, which were made of pine and had a rustic lodgepole-pine railing.

“What we’d like to know,” Shane said, handing over his credit card, “is why my grandfather purchased this town.”

“Gabby, go get Shane the key to Sawtooth.” Mitch waited until his daughter disappeared into the back room. “He didn’t tell you?”

Shane shook his head.

“I don’t know,” Mitch said, not entirely believably.

“Really?” Shane rubbed his jaw and considered the innkeeper. “He bought this place from you a decade ago. You signed a lease for one dollar a year. You’re telling me that somewhere along the line you didn’t ask my grandfather why he was interested in your property?”

“You’re facing a dead end.” Gabby returned, placing the key and wooden key ring on the counter. “That’s about as much as I’ve gotten out of him.”

Mitch frowned. “Gabby, what have I told you about adult conversations?”

“I’m just trying to take on more responsibility in the family business, like you asked.” The preteen held up her hands. “I guess you don’t need help with check-in.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Mitch sighed and smiled at Ella, gesturing from his daughter to Penny. “Take notes. This is your future.” He turned to Shane. “If Harlan Monroe didn’t tell his family why he bought the town, you can assume he didn’t tell us, either.” He consulted a map of the inn. “Let’s put Laurel in the Meadow Room.”

“Mom.” Penny tugged at Ella’s leg with both hands. Her cheeks were flushed. “Want cookie.” She coughed.

Was that a productive cough? Or just an I-need-to-blow-my-nose cough? Ella dug in the diaper bag for a tissue and a small snack bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.

“In case you need anything to wash that cookie down with, there’s a kitchenette around the corner with a small fridge, a microwave and a sink,” Mitch said, using the interruption to gloss over Shane’s dig for information. “Help yourself to coffee or water.”

“I can store things in the refrigerator?” Ella thought about cheese sticks, milk and yogurt. “Is there a freezer?” For ice cream.

“No, sorry.” Mitch seemed genuinely apologetic.

“This is really fine work.” Laurel fingered the blue-and-brown quilt on the couch. “Who made this?”

“Odette.” Gabby bounded from behind the desk to the living room. “She’s super old.”

“Gabby.”

“That’s what she says,” Gabby countered, defending herself with a put-upon huff. “She lives down the road. She tried to teach me how to knit and sew, but I’m kind of a lost cause.”

“Meaning the knitting needles weren’t as interesting as a video game,” Mitch murmured half under his breath.

“I was just a kid when she tried to teach me before,” Gabby said. “Are you really Ashley Monroe’s twin? You look just like her.”

Laurel nodded, smiling weakly as if her stomach was still upset. It was a burden to look exactly like her famous sister.

“You were eleven when she tried to teach you,” Mitch said. “And you’re still a kid.”

“Dad. Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Gabby executed a disparaging eye roll to the ceiling before her glance landed on Laurel’s nearby feet. “I love your boots.”

“I got them at a vintage store in Hollywood.” Laurel traced the quilt pattern with her finger. “I’d love to meet Odette.”

Sophie was standing near the collection of items hanging on the inn’s wall—an old ice pick, a washboard, a bed warmer.

“Odette’s not much for strangers,” Mitch cautioned. “Took her months to warm up to Noah.”

Noah didn’t look like a doctor. He looked like he’d been in the mountains for too long and had just come down for a cup of coffee for the first time in months.

“Is Noah new to town?” Ella asked casually, pouring a little water into a small plastic cup in the kitchenette.

“Noah came to us months ago when we needed a new doctor.” Mitch answered Ella’s question, but he was still having a who-will-blink-first face-off with Shane. “Second Chance is the county seat. We have the only doctor and homeschooling coordinator for a hundred miles.”

“What happened to the old doctor?” Shane asked.

“Doc Carter?” Mitch’s expression turned grim. “She died.”

“This bed warmer is from Europe.” Sophie adjusted her glasses and peered at the back of the piece hanging from the wall. “Antique and highly valuable.”

“It was here when I bought the place eleven years ago,” Mitch said, not sounding impressed. “And before you question me about what your grandfather bought, he paid for the land and the structures in town, not anything inside where people were still living. So, if the bed warmer is worth anything and you want it, you can make me an offer.”

“That answers the question about why you sold this place to my grandfather.” Shane pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket. “Money.”

“Shane,” Sophie chastised.

Ella wanted to second Sophie’s reprimand, but she wasn’t sure it would be well-received now that her place in the family seemed to be in doubt.

“What about properties where people weren’t living?” Laurel looked thoughtful. “And where businesses had gone under? There are a couple of vacant-looking buildings around here.”

There were more than a couple.

“If it’s vacant or the business went under, everything in it is yours.” Mitch didn’t seem happy to admit that. “Next.” He waved Sophie to the desk.

His daughter glanced from her father to Shane, but said nothing.

After everyone was checked in, Laurel watched the kids while Shane, Sophie and Ella unloaded the luggage from the Hummer. It wasn’t yet dinnertime, but the sky was darkening and the temperature was dropping noticeably.

“Be careful what you say to Mitch,” Shane cautioned when they were outside. “I don’t trust him.”

“Is that your testosterone talking, brother dear?” Sophie slung cartoon-decorated backpacks over each shoulder.

“That’s my business-sense talking, sister dear.” Shane scowled, an expression that might have been amplified by the sudden gust of biting wind.

“He’s defending his territory.” Ella wrestled Laurel’s huge, heavy suitcase to the ground, narrowly missing her toes. Laurel had also brought a large garment bag full to the seams. Wow. Did all costume designers pack for every contingency? “People get uncomfortable when there’s uncertainty about their home.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Shane’s scowl deepened. “Remember you’re a Monroe, Ella.”

Sure, she thought, for now. But these past few days, she hadn’t been proud of it.

CHAPTER THREE

NOAH TRUDGED THROUGH the deepening snow to his cabin carrying a bag of dog food.

The limping dog trailed behind him.

A dog. One everyone thought was cute. And no one else would take him? Because he was lame?

It figured.

Noah was reminded of his father’s history of perfection. Every event in Noah’s life that fell short of his standards was met with a pronouncement of the man’s greatness.

You came in fourth in the relay race? My friends and I were state champs.

That’s your SAT math score? My math mark was seventy points higher than that on my first try.

His father had the highest expectations. He’d have taken one look at the laboring dog and contacted the closest animal-rescue facility.

The joke’s on you, Dad.

The truth was, the dog wouldn’t go with anyone else.

Darn dog didn’t know he’d made the wrong choice.

“Don’t expect much,” Noah told the dog when he reached the porch, because he’d been trained to have a polite bedside manner, even when he was in a foul mood.

The dog paused on the top step, panting. Snow clung to his shaggy golden hair as if it had been professionally frosted. His dark brown eyes, which peeked out from beneath overgrown bangs, were filled with things Noah didn’t want—love and trust. With those eyes, he was exactly the kind of dog that should appeal to someone like Ella.

“And don’t think this is permanent.” Noah gave the canine a stern look. “It’s just until you’re back on your feet.” He sighed, put his key in the lock and opened the door. “And now I’m talking to a dog.” Which, on second thought, might be an improvement. He’d been talking to himself since he’d gotten here.

He hurried inside, closed the door quickly behind them and just as hastily hung up his outerwear on hooks—knit cap, scarf, jacket. The dog sat at his feet, leg thrust out at an awkward angle.

“Did you forget we had an appointment, Doc?”

Noah jumped in the midst of removing his gloves. He quickly tugged them back in place and turned toward the corner, where the exam room was located. “I thought I locked the door.”

“You did.” A wiry old woman wearing a yellow knit cap over her coarse gray hair sat on the exam-room table, partially hidden by a privacy screen. “I know where the spare key is.”

Why don’t I know where the spare key is?

Noah’s pulse rate peaked, then began its descent into normal. Thankfully, the important stuff—the medicines and equipment—was locked in cabinets. He doubted there was a spare key to those, but he made a mental note to ask Mitch about keys regardless. “Odette, you don’t have an appointment today.” Or any day, for that matter.

The dog hobbled over and sniffed Odette’s feet, which were covered in red-and-blue hand-knit socks.

Odette patted the dog on the head. “Doc, dying patients need daily appointments.”

“You’re not dying.” She was just old and in need of some company. “Go back to your arts and crafts.”

She harrumphed, and then muttered, “Arts and crafts,” as if he’d referred to her quilting and knitting in a derogatory manner.

Which in hindsight, he might have. Her continued presence was getting on his nerves. His neighbor came by so often, she didn’t comment on his gloves anymore.

The dog sat at the base of the table and wagged his tail, more than willing to accept a visitor. Why couldn’t Noah have rescued a territorial guard dog?

“Doc Carter knew I was dying.” Odette huffed, thin shoulders slumping. “She was nice to me.”

Noah stalked over to the exam area, and grabbed the blood-pressure cuff and his stethoscope.

The canine panted and wagged his fluffy tail as if to say, You have to be nice to her, too, because she’s old and alone.

He scowled at the dog. “I’m paid to keep Second Chance residents healthy. Kindness is extra.”

The dog stopped panting, closed his mouth and stared at Noah in disbelief.

Noah shrugged and said to the dog, “Don’t look at me like that. Kindness never healed anybody.”

“Aha!” Odette fairly crowed with satisfaction. “You agree I’m down to my last days.”

“No. I was...” Talking to a dog because the isolation of Second Chance is getting to me?

That admission wouldn’t go over well. He wrapped the cuff around Odette’s arm with difficulty, relying on his left hand to pull it snug. He had to hand-pump the unit, because every piece of medical equipment in the cabin was at least ten years old and behind in technological advances. He still had to use an oral thermometer to take a patient’s temperature!

Odette went rigid, held her breath and leaned away from the cuff. “My brother always told me getting old was a chore.”

“Don’t tense up or we’ll have to do this again.”

“I’ll just look at your therapy dog.” Staring down, Odette visibly relaxed.

Noah felt her forehead—not hot—then relieved the pressure on the valve and watched the gauge fall.

“He has such sweet eyes. What’s his name?”

“Dog.” Noah removed the armband and picked up his stethoscope, instructing her to breathe deeply as he listened to her lungs. He checked her skin for elasticity. “Your blood pressure is normal. Your lungs are clear. You’re hydrated.” He retrieved her file from a drawer and dutifully logged the date, her numbers and his assessment—normal. Why did she insist she was on death’s door? “Are you having hurtful thoughts? Are you depressed? Is it hard to get up in the morning?”

“No, no and no.”

“Odette.” He gave the old woman his most serious expression, the one he used to use when he told sports stars they had to agree to an intense postsurgery therapy regime if they wanted him to operate. “I think you’ll live another day.”

Odette fell back on the exam table as if this was the worst news ever. “How can you say that?”