Rocky Mountain Redemption. Pamela Nissen

right place. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

      Her perfectly shaped brows creased in a stern look over red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not here for medical attention. I—I want to speak with you about something of pressing importance.”

      Smoothing a hand over the day’s growth of stubble on his chin, Ben bit back the sympathetic look that was close to surfacing. There was just something about her show of strength, about the way she wore bravery like a suit of armor five sizes too big that tugged at his heart.

      “Well, whatever it is must be important for you to seek me out in a snowstorm like this.” He resisted the urge to stand when she stared at him as though he was some wily predator. “So tell me, how can I help you?”

      She coughed, and a definite wheeze threaded through the harsh sound. Turning, she shrugged her cloak off and laid it on the chair along with her sack, then faced him once again. “I’m here to offer my services to you.”

      Ben slammed his gaze down to the floor. Fumbled to cover his shock, but the sight of her standing before him…it was nothing short of shocking.

      He braved a glance up again to see a ruby-red satin dress hanging on her thin frame, the gaudy ruffles and lace worn almost beyond repair in places. And the scoop neckline—he swallowed hard—plunged way too far down to be considered appropriate.

      Ben averted his attention to the floor again. Frowned in confusion. What could this woman possibly offer him?

      When he sneaked another glimpse and took in her tattered but risqué appearance, he had to steady himself as a ghastly glimmer of understanding enlightened him.

      Did she mean to sell herself?

      Gritting his teeth, he prepared to set her straight right here and right now. He may be a twenty-nine-year-old bachelor, but he hadn’t ever, nor would he ever, resort to using a woman like that.

      “I’m sorry. But I’m not interested in that kind of thing, Miss…Miss Callie.” He forced himself to meet her cautious gaze as she clutched something at her neck. “If it’s money you need, I’m glad to give you some. But I would never think of paying for female companionship.”

      Her red-rimmed eyes widened as though she’d been scandalized. “Doctor Drake, you misunderstand me.” She squared her shoulders. Grasped the front of her dress, yanking it up in an awkward, unnatural angle for such a garment. “I’m here to inquire about the job. You do have a sign at your window advertising for such, am I right?”

      Her bravado ended on a fit of coughing that sent him bolting to her side.

      “I do.” He forced his hands to remain at his sides when she instantly sidestepped. “But for the life of me, I’m trying to figure out why you’d inquire about the job this late at night. In a blizzard. And in such poor health. I am looking for help, but I think that before we discuss anything like that, we should first get you well.”

      On a wheezing breath, she slapped him with a reproving glower.

      She was proud—that was for sure.

      He inwardly kicked himself for saying what he had. But she’d dressed the part—though now that he thought about it, her skittish behavior and repulsion to his touch didn’t correspond with a woman of that line of work.

      But her dress…

      “I’m here about the sign you have in your window, Doctor Drake.” She nervously toyed with some trinket at her neck. “I can start working immediately, if that suits you.”

      “First of all,” Ben began, glancing at her neck. He expected to see some worthless bit of whatnot hanging there, but when his tired gaze settled on a small silver locket, an icy chill doused his weariness. His heart ground to a stuttering stop. His breath caught.

      He’d recognize that locket anywhere.

      It was one of a kind. Handmade for his mother by his father who’d dabbled in jeweling throughout the years. The locket had been a priceless treasure. A gift deeded to Ben by his mother shortly before she’d passed twelve years ago.

      Memories surfaced with breakneck speed, shooting up from a miry depth he’d tried to ignore all these years.

      The constant run-ins he’d had with his brother, Max. The way Max would milk Ben’s compassion for his own ill-reputed gain. The way Max would venture off for weeks at a time, returning with tales of some young harlot. And then that night seven years ago, when Max had come home thoroughly drunk. It had been a final, awful conflict. Max had destroyed anything he could get his hands on, furniture, dishes, relationships…

      After Max had forced a lewd, unwanted kiss on Aaron’s sweetheart, Max and Aaron, the fourth in a line of five Drake brothers, had gotten into a terrible fight. By morning, some of the money Ben had set aside for medical school had come up missing. Along with the heirloom locket. And Max.

      A sharp stab of betrayal cut deep as he stared in disbelief. Max had stolen the locket and now here it was, hanging on the neck of some woman who was dressed for more than just baking bread.

      Was this the young harlot Max had told them about? The one who’d likely lured him away for good, leading him into a sordid lifestyle of gambling and drinking?

      Callie lifted her chin a notch, her slender fingers clamping around the silver locket. “The job, Doctor Drake… What about the job? I can assure you that I would be a good—”

      “Where did you get that?” He took one step closer, craning his neck to get a better look. The fine, detailed filigree and etched scrolling shone even in the dim light, a testament to his father’s talent.

      She slid back a step. “Get what?”

      “The locket.” He nodded toward the object, forcing himself to remain calm.

      “This locket is no concern of yours.” She flattened both hands over the locket, her dress slipping down to a brazenly improper draping.

      He clenched his jaw tight, furious that his dear mother’s locket hung from this woman’s neck.

      “And it certainly has nothing to do with my being here. Like I said, I’m here about the job.”

      “Oh, it doesn’t?” He gave a sarcastic laugh, infuriated at her bold censorship. “Funny thing, that locket. It looks just like one I once had.”

      “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. This was a gift given to me. There’s no way it could belong to you.” She coughed again, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. “Now, about the Help Wanted sign.”

      He shifted his focus to the door, suspicion creeping up his spine, and setting his hair on end. What if Max lurked out there? Waiting for her? Maybe this was all just some ploy to make off with more money.

      That possibility had Ben’s blood boiling red-hot.

      Resisting the urge to open the door and see for himself, Ben stepped closer to Callie. “Forget about the job for now, ma’am. Where did you get that locket?”

      She balled her fist around the locket, inching away. “I told you, it was a gift.”

      He pinned her with an intense stare. “Who gave it to you?”

      When her sunken eyes widened with the smallest hint of fear, a subtle sting of remorse pricked his conscience. He’d never spoken like this to a woman—ever. Even if she was a conniving thief sent by Max, she was a thin, sickly, delicately beautiful one, and he could’ve gone a little easier on her.

      She drew her lips into a silent, grim line.

      “My mother gave me that locket twelve years ago,” he said evenly, determined to remain controlled. “On her deathbed.”

      Her fine features creased in a frown.

      “The last time I saw it was just before my brother Max took off with some harlot over seven years ago. Do you know Max? Is he out there now?” he probed with a brisk nod toward