Her Hired Husband. Renee Roszel

to talk to your husband.”

      She crossed her arms and flicked her gaze away, so he turned back to his patient. “Are you allergic to anything, sir?”

      “No,” Hubert whispered.

      “Try to relax.” Noah patted the man lightly on his shoulder. “I’ll call in a prescription and have it sent over.”

      “Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left that metal sculpture in the hallway.”

      Little Mrs. Expectant ducked in front of Noah, taking her grandfather’s hand. He flinched and let out a long, elaborate groan.

      “I don’t recommend yanking on him,” Noah said. “He’s in severe distress.” Turning away, he headed for the foyer where he’d seen a telephone table.

      “I wasn’t yank—where are you going? What are you doing?” she demanded.

      The sound of sneakers squeaking on the wooden parlor floor told him she was catching up. He glanced her way, focusing on those big, worried eyes. “Your grandfather needs medication.” Striding across the foyer, he reached the telephone table and lifted the receiver of the old, black telephone. “What’s the nearest pharmacy?”

      “Bert’s Drugstore. Why?”

      Deciding her question would be answered if she hung around listening, he dialed. “Information, give me the number for Bert’s Drugstore.”

      “What are you doing?” she asked in a suspicious whisper.

      “What does it sound like? I’m having a prescription—thank you, operator.” He hung up with a finger on the disconnect button then dialed again.

      “Are you crazy?” she demanded under her breath. “You can’t—”

      “Hush,” he ordered, shifting away. “This is Dr. Noah Barrett, I need a prescription sent out to—” He paused, then remembered the scrap of paper Sam had written his sister’s address on, and pulled it from his trouser pocket. “—to 95099 Bobolink Lane. It’s at the end of the road. The prescription is for Hubert Vanderkellen.”

      As he told the pharmacist the medication and dosage, he felt several adamant yanks on his shirt. Exasperated, he peered over his shoulder. “What is it?”

      “How dare you presume to make a diagnosis!” Mrs. Gray-Eyes charged, her whisper rough and low-pitched. “Phoning in a prescription and pretending to be a doctor is a criminal offense!”

      The call completed, he hung up and scowled at her. Those huge eyes were round, horrified orbs the size of hula hoops. Her outraged expression stirred something in him and his annoyance receded a notch. “You told me I was a doctor,” he said, with a wry twist of his lips. “If you keep changing the rules, I might get confused.”

      She gasped, her utter dismay curiously charming. He heard Mrs. Vanderkellen snap something to her husband, but couldn’t make it out. “By the way…” He canted his head toward the parlor. “What got into your grandmother?”

      “Don’t change the subject! You can’t go around phoning in prescriptions, pretending to be a doctor! You can go to jail for that kind of thing, buster!” She poked his chest. “That fifty bucks I’m paying you won’t cover your bail.”

      “Fifty?” he asked, surprised and amused she’d planned to pay some stranger to play her husband.

      “Don’t even think about asking for more money!” She poked again. “And that kiss back there. That was way over the line!”

      He grinned. “Want me to take it back?”

      “Take it…” Her annoyed expression turned to confusion. “How?”

      He lowered his head so his mouth was a couple of inches above hers. “Like this.”

      When he moved closer, his intent to kiss her made clear, she jerked away, her mouth forming an O at his audacity. “Look, you can be as supercilious as you want on your own time, but right now you’re on my payroll.”

      He grinned. “Supercilious, huh? That’s the first time I’ve ever been called that.”

      “It was the nicest word I could come up with on such short notice!”

      He couldn’t resist a low chuckle at her mettle. “Okay, if you won’t let me take the kiss back, let’s call it even. You don’t owe me any money.”

      She looked startled, but misgiving continued to crinkle her forehead. “Don’t be silly. I pay my way. Now move. I’m calling an ambulance!”

      “Your grandfather wants no part of hospitals and considering what he told me, I think he’s right.”

      “Oh, you think he’s right, do you?” Her sarcasm was so thick Noah would have been hard-pressed to cut it with a saw. “I’m so relieved!”

      A knock sounded at the door and the pregnant little chest-poker froze. “Who could that be?”

      How would he know? “It’s probably for me,” Noah taunted.

      She made a face at his gibe before turning toward the door. He had a feeling he knew who was at the door and halted her with a hand on her wrist while he fished his wallet out of his hip pocket. “Give him this.”

      She frowned in confusion, as he pulled out two twenties and a ten and stuffed them into her hand.

      “What’s this for?”

      “Just hang on to it.”

      She started to say something but another knock snapped her head around and she hurried to the door.

      “Yes?”

      Noah couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell the visitor was a man.

      “Oh!” His hostess said in a half whisper. “Oh, my…” She stepped out on the porch and closed the door for a count of three, then was back. Her face had gone a rosy-peach color.

      “Was it for me?” he kidded with a lift of an eyebrow.

      His question seemed to bring her out of some kind of daze and she flicked her attention to him. “No—it was—an orderly…”

      “Did you give him the fifty?”

      “He took it,” she whispered, still looking befuddled. “He—he said I owed it…” After a second, her features closed in a glower. She walked to Noah and got as close as her pregnancy would allow. “Just who are you and what are you doing here?”

      He frowned back, mocking her. “I tried to tell you when I got here.”

      The color drained from her face. “Why don’t you tell me now?”

      He checked his watch. Time was rapidly slipping away. “I’m a friend of Sam’s, and if I’m going to catch my flight, I need to get out of here.”

      “Are you a—a real doctor, by chance?” she asked, her voice weak.

      “Not by chance, by eight years of medical school.”

      That horrified look returned. She had gigantic eyes, a glimmery silver color he couldn’t recall seeing before. Her white-blond hair was pulled back to her nape in a loose ponytail. Flyaway wisps framed her face in a feathery halo. Her right earlobe sported three studs, all silver, a heart, a ladybug and a hummingbird. Her left, just the heart. A bright pink T-shirt peeked out from beneath a paisley maternity dress. He could see her shapely legs from just above her knees down to purple crush socks and yellow, high-top canvas shoes.

      She was nothing like he’d pictured Sam Johnson’s little sister might be. Sam was a dark, quiet, button-down guy in wire-rimmed glasses. His doctorly regard gave nothing away. Noah seriously doubted Little Mrs. Bountiful, here, had kept an emotion to herself in her whole life.

      She had an electricity about her that was distinct