What The Cowboy Prescribes.... Mary Starleigh

road from her. She drew a wooden kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down.

      He nodded. “Oh, Lemon House, right. I get it.”

      “Everyone in town calls it that.” She stood. “Sorry I didn’t ask you in. Blame my bad manners on surprise.” Meg walked to the door, unlatched it, then pushed it open. “Please, come in.”

      Steve filled the entire door frame with his brawny physique. Grime and dirt covered his jacket. A wave of sympathy rolled up Meg’s spine. The Lemon House’s condition was probably worse than she imagined. It had been years since she’d even been inside the abandoned place.

      “Can I offer you a cold drink?”

      “No thanks.” He looked around her bright kitchen.

      “I didn’t think anyone would buy that old house.”

      “I failed to ask the Realtor for details.” He smiled a little, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

      She stepped back a tiny bit and looked up at him. Steve was taller than she’d realized. “You don’t plan on staying there, do you?” The idea of him living in the falling down house didn’t sit comfortably with her.

      “I came over to see if you know of a repairman. All the windows are broken out.…” He squared his shoulders again.

      Meg held back a smile. It was hard to believe anything could daunt Steve Hartly. She studied the pained look on his face and another wave of sympathy moved through her.

      “I might know of someone who can help you. Please, why don’t you sit down?” She found her own chair at the table.

      Steve joined her and folded his hands in front of him. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring intrigued Meg.

      Her gaze moved to his, and she found him staring at her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

      “Thanks. Anybody else live around here?”

      “Just me…and now you.”

      The worry line between his dark brows deepened.

      “Are you going to make some of the repairs yourself?” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. The man sitting across from her seemed to undermine her self-possession.

      “I was planning on making the minor ones. Now I’m thinking about just renting a bulldozer and…”

      “Oh, it can’t be that bad. Besides, Jackson has a great hardware store. Down the street from the café. Bowden’s. Family-owned. Saturday nights they sponsor a country-and-western dance at the Sunshine Café. People come from miles around to dance and have fun.”

      “I’m not sure one small hardware store is going to have all the supplies I need.”

      The man had such a sincere voice. She drew an invisible line on the table with an index finger, then shifted her attention back to him. “I haven’t been inside the Lemon House in years. Pretty bad?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I hope I thanked you properly for helping Erin.” She hadn’t talked to another doctor casually in a long time, and right now, it felt remarkably good to sit across from Steve.

      “No need to thank me again.” His left hand curled into a fist, his knuckles growing white. “Just doing what any doc—anyone would do if they could.” A dark look swept across his face.

      “What if I had been out of the office and you weren’t there?” She stopped when his look grew more troubled.

      “It worked out. That’s all that matters.”

      “Yes, I guess you’re right. Sometimes I worry. People in Jackson are good folks. I do my best.”

      “I can see that.”

      Meg’s hand swept through her damp hair. Steve raised his eyebrow for a moment, then brought an index finger up to his mouth and rubbed at his lip. Worry lines began creasing his forehead again.

      “Are you looking to practice medicine around here?” she asked. Maybe he’d be the one to help her.

      “No.” The thin, quick denial sliced the air.

      “Retired, at your age?”

      “I’m not practicing anymore.”

      “Oh, you’ll go back. I’d never be able to give up my practice, leave medicine.”

      Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Meg. “No. I won’t.”

      “Burned out? You probably just need a break.”

      “I need to get back to my house.” He slid his chair back and stood.

      Meg gulped. She couldn’t let him leave now. “Wait, I’m too nosy, sorry. It’s just nice to have another doctor to talk to.” She got up and smiled. “Let me get you the name of the someone who’ll help you.”

      “I do need the number, but—”

      “Cal Bradford does repairs and construction. He has a new baby coming in a few weeks. I’m sure he needs the work.”

      Steve crossed his arms. “Maybe that’s not such a good—”

      “He does great work. Wait till you talk to him. I have his number in my book.” She quickly stepped to the small kitchen desk, glad for the excuse to put space between herself and her guest. Being so close to him caused her to feel slightly off center, almost nervous.

      “I don’t want to bother you.” He uncrossed his arms and moved toward the back door.

      Crazy, mixed-up thoughts whirled in her mind. Steve Hartly was a doctor. Through her exhaustion, excitement rippled. She hoped he’d have at least half a dozen years of experience under his belt.

      “Wait, Steve! It’s no bother. I’ll get you Cal’s number.” The man standing in her kitchen might be her last chance.

      And she wasn’t going to let Steve Hartly get away so easily.

      Steve watched Meg walk to the desk against the wall. Above a stack of papers hung an ancient rotary wall phone. Her delicate fingers flipped through the pages of a personal phone book. She snatched a sheet of notepaper from a stack and scribbled a number.

      His gaze drifted. The stark white shirt she was wearing accented her gleaming brown hair, which turned up in a sexy flip at her shoulders. The silky strands shimmered, seeming to have a life all their own.

      While she thumbed through a large stack of papers, Steve let his gaze slip farther down. Her worn jeans hugged her well-rounded hips and emphasized the curves of her perky bottom like the skin of a very ripe tomato.

      He swallowed hard. Although he had more important things to think about, he couldn’t take his eyes off her nicely rounded backside.

      Meg turned around and he jerked his gaze up.

      She cocked a dainty eyebrow, telling him she knew he’d been giving her the once-over.

      “Here it is. Give Cal a call. I’m sure he’ll help you.” She handed him the piece of paper.

      He studied what she’d written. Her handwriting—a small, rounded script—was as well proportioned as her figure. A drug company logo embossed the top of the small square sheet. It jolted his memory. He’d prescribed their medicine many times to patients who suffered from high blood pressure.

      His finger traced over the raised logo. What he’d enjoyed most in practicing medicine for five years was helping his patients adopt healthier lifestyles…

      Steve pushed back the feelings that needed to stay in the past.

      “It’s not too late to call.” Meg’s words broke into his thoughts.

      “I don’t have a phone. I’ll drive into town tomorrow.”

      “You