Family Practice. Judy Duarte

that a little soap, water and bandaging won’t help,” Kara said, hoping to sound cheerful.

      “But his leg,” Lizzie cried. “The doctors said to be careful.”

      “He’s fine. Don’t worry, Lizzie. Sit down before you have a heart attack.”

      Michael was at Kara’s side in a moment. “Here, let me help,” he said, taking Eric from her arms.

      She appreciated his assistance, which would allow her hands the freedom to care for the wounds. “The bathroom is this way. If you’ll just set him on the counter, I can do the rest.”

      Kara led Michael down the hall, but when he placed Eric upon the pink-tiled counter, he didn’t turn and leave. Instead, he carefully checked each wound. His gentle assessment surprised her. Most men had a rather macho side, at least those she’d met while working at the Pacifica Bar and Grill. An image of Jason Baker came to mind, a man who had once thought Kara should be thrilled that a guy of his wealth and social standing should want to date her.

      Hon, she could imagine him saying, just rub a little dirt on it. It’ll toughen up that wimpy kid.

      “Do you have any antibacterial soap?” Michael asked, pulling Kara from her musing.

      Unable to spot any on the countertop, she stooped to search the cabinet under the sink where Lizzie kept bathroom supplies. Finding soap in a clear, plastic bottle decorated with cartoon characters, she stood. “You don’t have to help me. I can take it from here.”

      “It’s no trouble,” he said.

      She watched him work carefully, all the while talking to Eric about soccer and school, taking his mind off the cleaning of gravel embedded in his right knee. Then Michael paused, glancing at one leg then the other. Noting the extensive scars and disparity in musculature? Kara wondered. If so, he didn’t comment, which was good. Eric was self-conscious of the difference.

      “You’re pretty good with fixing skinned knees and hands,” Kara said, trying to make conversation. “What else are you good at?”

      He looked at her with another one of those unreadable expressions, then their gazes locked for only a moment, but long enough for her to feel a flutter in her stomach and a warmth in her breast.

      What else are you good at? Good grief. Had she said that? It sounded so suggestive, and she certainly hadn’t meant to…

      “I mean,” she said, “any other talents?”

      “None to boast about,” he answered. His amber eyes never left hers, and the room seemed to close in on them.

      Boy, it was hot in here. Kara blew out her breath. “Ready for some gauze and tape?” she asked, trying to still her awkwardness.

      “Yeah,” Michael said, returning his attention to Eric.

      When Eric had been bandaged, Kara reached to take the boy from the counter and set him on the floor, but apparently Michael had the same idea. Their hands brushed together, and they both jerked back in response.

      Kara, her fingers still tingling from his touch, felt her cheeks warm. Darn that telltale flush. She didn’t want him thinking she felt embarrassment or anything else. He was a stranger, just passing through. And she had a lot on her plate these days. A brief—

      A brief what?

      For goodness sake, was she even thinking an odd encounter in Lizzie’s bathroom with a stranger was a prelude to anything at all?

      She’d been reading too many romance books.

      And if she’d learned anything at all, happily ever after only happened in fairy tales. It had been a tough lesson, but one she wouldn’t ever forget. She would never allow a Prince Charming to rescue her and set her up in a castle in the sky.

      Kara Westin could take care of herself.

      Kara carried Gulliver’s leash and stepped out on the porch, intent on taking her usual sunset walk south of the harbor. It had become an evening ritual, ever since she’d first moved into the Haven.

      The quiet hour before dusk was her favorite time of the day. She relished the tranquillity as the sun sank low in the pink and gray streaked sky. It gave her time to think, to plan, to dream.

      Resting her hands against the lattice railing, she watched the waves crash upon the shore. Sometimes, when things were really quiet, she envisioned herself on the deck of a huge ship, sailing across the sea to a land of plenty and promise. Kara didn’t have many possessions, but she did own a vivid imagination, something she found priceless.

      A lone gull sounded in the distance, and she searched the horizon. Instead of the bird, she spotted Michael, her new neighbor. He sat, alone and pensive, perched on the rocks that lined the jetty.

      Who was he? Why had he come after the other tourists had gone home? She wanted to honor his privacy, but to do so meant she would remain on the porch instead of walking barefoot in the sand. Perhaps she could wave, acknowledge his presence, then continue on her own. She didn’t need to strike up a conversation or bother him.

      She stepped from the deck and strode toward the fence behind Mr. Radcliff’s house. Kara and Mr. Radcliff were the only two permanent tenants of Lizzie’s cottages. The elderly man had been kind enough to allow Gulliver to stay in his yard, since Kara’s house didn’t have a fence. Kara, in turn, fed and cared for the dog and kept Mr. Radcliff’s yard clean.

      Lizzie thought Mr. Radcliff rather stodgy and persnickety, but Kara disagreed. Losing his eyesight had surely made the old man act that way. Besides, Kara liked to focus on the good qualities people had, and as far as she was concerned, Mr. Radcliff had plenty. He’d been the first to suggest a trust fund be set up for Eric and little Ashley. And he’d organized the Gray Brigade, a group of senior citizens who had besieged the local paper with phone calls and letters to the editor in support of Lizzie’s request for custody.

      Mr. Radcliff was kindhearted, even if he was a bit cranky at times. Lizzie referred to him as another of Kara’s adoptees, which, in a sense, he probably was. Of course, Kara made it a point not to coddle him, but she did take him dessert some evenings. And whenever his hometown newspaper arrived in the mail, she made time to read it out loud to him.

      After she snapped the leash on Gulliver, Kara and the dog took off toward the shore, a bit more quickly than Kara had intended. “Come on,” she warned the dog. “Take it easy. I want to walk, not race. And if you don’t stop jerking ahead, you’ll pull my arm from its socket. Then who will exercise you?”

      Gulliver, apparently not the least bit intimidated by Kara’s threat, didn’t show much restraint as they neared the stretch of beach where Michael rested upon the rocks, one knee bent, the other extended. He seemed so lost in his thoughts that she doubted whether he noticed her watching him. Or whether he even cared.

      He picked up a small stone, studied it carefully, then tossed it into the surf. The breeze ruffled his golden hair, and the sun glistened off a bristled cheek, making him look like an eighteenth-century sea captain who’d lost his ship and crew. Kara’s imagination took hold, and she envisioned him marooned on a desert island, forlorn and helpless.

      So pensive, so alone, she thought. So sad. Why did she always gravitate toward the downtrodden? Little boys who’d been orphaned, motherless babies, lonely old men and women, stray dogs.

      Surely, she should leave him alone, allow him some privacy.

      But like the call of the gull, his solitude cried out and beckoned her.

      Chapter Two

      Michael watched the sun dip low in the sky and found some peace at last. So far, so good, he thought. No one had recognized him or badgered him with questions he hadn’t even taken time to consider himself. For that reason alone, this quiet little hideaway might be just what he needed.

      A bark caught his attention, and he glanced over his right shoulder where Kara walked her dog along