The Man Who Wouldn't Marry. Tina Beckett

She needed the sleep, or tomorrow promised to be a long, exhausting day.

      ‘Mrs. Litchfield is in room one. One of her joints is swollen to almost twice its size.’ The receptionist handed Sammi a file folder.

      She tossed her braid over her shoulder, catching a movement outside the front plate-glass window as she did.

      Mark. He was striding by on his way to the airport, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his leather bomber jacket, long, loose limbs moving in a way that drew the eye. Not quite a swagger, his stride gave off an air of easy confidence that said he didn’t care what the world thought of him.

      And unlike Sammi, who couldn’t seem to look away, the man didn’t spare a glance at the clinic, or at her. With a sigh, she forced herself to turn away and head to the exam room.

      As soon as she arrived, all thoughts of Mark evaporated when Barbara Litchfield, a woman in her mid-fifties, climbed to her feet and greeted her.

      ‘Sorry to come back so soon,’ she said, the regret in her voice unmistakable.

      ‘What are you talking about? I told you to get back in here at the first hint of trouble. Arthritis is nothing to play around with. I know you need those fingers whole and strong.’

      A retired orchestral pianist, Barbara had moved to the Aleutians with her husband when he’d retired from a corporate job a couple of years ago. At a time when most retirees sought refuge in the south, hoping for warm, sunny days of golfing and fun, the Litchfields had bucked the trend, fitting right into the harsh landscape of Dutch Harbor. Barbara taught piano lessons—free of charge—to a few of the local kids. It meant a lot to both the former pianist and the kids she worked with. Those fingers were important, and not just for her physical health.

      Sammi snapped on a pair of gloves. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

      Taking the other woman’s hands in hers, she spotted the affected joint immediately. Swollen and angry red, her left ring finger didn’t look happy, and for good reason. Molly frowned when she noted the woman’s wedding band. ‘Why is that still on?’

      ‘I tried to get it off this morning when I realized how bad it was, but it wouldn’t budge, and when I tried to force it…’ Her voice trailed away.

      ‘It’s okay. The base of your finger isn’t swollen at the moment, but if it begins to swell, we may need to cut the ring off.’ She put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. ‘We won’t unless it’s absolutely necessary, okay? In the meantime, I’m going to give you a shot of cortisone in the joint. Then I really want you to see a rheumatologist in Anchorage. I’ll make a phone call and get you in as soon as possible.’

      ‘I can’t just keep taking Advil?’

      Sammy shook her head. ‘That used to be how we treated arthritis, thinking if we could get the inflammation under control, we could preserve the joint. But newer research suggests the real damage happens much earlier in the disease, even before it shows up on X-rays.’

      Just like the damage to Sammi and Mark’s relationship. Just as their feelings for each other started to gain a foothold, unseen currents swirled around them, eating away at the foundation. By the time she’d realized just how deeply she’d fallen for him, the mysterious corrosive agent had done its job. The silver cord joining them had snapped and Mark had bolted.

      So why did seeing him walk down the street this morning still tug at something inside her? And why had seeing her son’s hand enveloped in his at the wedding a week ago turned her heart inside out?

      She shook off the questions. It didn’t matter. She’d gotten married, had a child with someone else. Mark had dated plenty of other women since his return.

      There was nothing between them any more.

      ‘Let me make a quick phone call then I’ll give you the injection.’ Sammi scribbled a couple of notes down on the chart. ‘I’ll be right back.’

      The phone call took less than five minutes. A bit of arm twisting on her end, the promise of a jar of home-made salmonberry jam when the season rolled around, and Barbara had her appointment. Two weeks from today, record time for that kind of specialist. But she and Chris Masters went way back. One of the few islanders who’d gone to medical school and left the Aleutians, he was now a highly sought-after rheumatologist. Appointments with him could take months.

      Satisfied, she made a note to herself that her debt to fellow doctors was now up to ten pints of jam and a pie. Not to mention her son, who’d made her promise on her life not to give all their jelly away again this year.

      Speaking of Toby…

      She jogged back to the reception area. ‘What time is it?’

      Lynn’s raised brows told her even before she spoke. ‘Two o’clock, and you’ve missed lunch again.’

      ‘Right. I’ll eat as soon as I’m done with Mrs. Litchfield. Promise.’

      ‘You’d better. I’ve already locked the front door, just in case.’

      Sammi laughed. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘I’m going to start heating your food in the microwave, so don’t take long.’ She paused. ‘I’m heating mine too.’

      In other words, if Sammi delayed, her receptionist would also go hungry. ‘I’ll be there by the time you pour the coffee.’

      The injection was given and Sammi unlatched the front door to let Barbara out—a sheaf of papers and instructions clutched in her hands. She pushed the door closed again, twisting her head around when Lynn’s threat reached her ears. ‘Coffee’s going into the mugs.’

      ‘I’ll be right—’

      The front door started to blow open, probably a result of the gusty conditions today. Sammi was leaning her entire weight onto it to force it shut when a harsh yelp, a colorful string of words and something squishy stopped her in her tracks.

      Eyes wide, she turned to look. The doorway she’d sworn was empty a second ago was now filled with Mark, and that squishy thing…

      Yikes, she’d just crunched his hand in the door!

      ‘Coffee’s getting cold.’ Lynn’s warning was drowned by the realization of what she’d just done.

      She jerked the door wide. ‘Oh, God, Mark. I’m sorry. I had no idea you were there. Or I’d have never…’

      ‘Never what? Slammed the door on me?’ He shook his injured hand, the graveled accusation bringing back the fact that she’d done exactly that once upon a time. When he’d announced his intention of moving away to join the armed forces, she’d slammed the door in his face with a ‘Don’t bother coming by before you leave’.

      But that was all in the past, where it would stay.

      ‘Come in so I can look at that hand.’

      ‘It’s fine.’

      ‘Seriously. It could be broken.’

      He gave a wry laugh. ‘You really think I’d let you set it if it were? I’d probably end up with permanently crooked fingers.’

      ‘I can think of at least one finger I’d like to fix permanently.’ The one he showed to the world. Not a visible gesture, but one he exuded with his attitude.

      In answer to her statement, he laughed. A genuine chuckle that moved from his stomach to his mouth… to his gorgeous green eyes. It took her breath away, and she had to force herself not to gasp.

      ‘I’m not that bad, am I?’ His brows went up.

      Worse. The word came and went without her uttering a single sound.

      Before she could give him an actual answer, Lynn peeked out from the other room, her mouth rounding in a perfect ‘O’ as she realized who was standing there. She’d grown up on the island, knew about Sammi and Mark’s