Lone Star Baby. Cathy Thacker Gillen

filled the silence between them.

      His lips thinned. “This is about Sterling, then.”

       And the secret unrequited lust I feel for you.

      “The point is, I’m in a rut.” Violet ignored the mention of the only man she had ever loved and the painful reminder of the many ways she had let him down, despite her intentions otherwise.

      The way she had begun to fear she might someday let her patients down, too.

      Resolutely, Violet continued. “And now, given that my residency has officially ended—”

      “You still have staff privileges for another few weeks,” Gavin reminded her, clearly holding out hope.

      “Until the new attending, Tara Warren, comes in to take over.” Violet stalked out to the U-Haul trailer that held the rest of her things. Aware he was hot on her heels, she pointed out, “Which will be by the first of October, I’m told. Until then, I’ll help out, on an as-needed basis, as promised, while simultaneously honoring my commitment to my family to oversee the renovation of the new McCabe House.”

      Lifting a heavy box into her arms, she nodded at the rambling Victorian farmhouse on the other side of the lawn. Home of her late grandparents, John and Lilah McCabe, the two-hundred-and-fifty-acre property was being turned into a hospitality center and temporary lodging for patients and families undergoing medical crises.

      “How’s that going?” Wordlessly, Gavin stepped up to give her a hand, his shoulder bumping hers in the process.

      Tingling where their bodies had collided, as well as everywhere they had not, Violet wheeled the loaded dolly into the stable-house. He walked beside her, easily carrying what she could only wheel. “They’re supposed to start the remodeling process next week.”

      She emptied the dolly and returned for another load, Gavin still at her side. “How many suites are there going to be?” he asked.

      After unloading, Violet paused to show him the building plans, which were spread out over her desk. “Seven—all with private baths.” She flipped through the plans, pointing as she spoke. “The entire downstairs will sport a large kitchen and one living and dining area.”

      “It was pretty great what your grandparents did.”

      Violet nodded. “And fitting, in a way, for them to deed their entire estate to the formation of a nonprofit foundation dedicated to providing food and shelter for families undergoing medical crises. Given that the two of them were the driving forces that established Laramie Community Hospital in the first place, more than seventy years ago.”

      “I admire what they’ve done. What you’ve volunteered to do. But you don’t have to live out here for three months to watch the workers, Violet.” His stormy blue eyes drifted over her. “You could easily supervise this process from town, too. And still take the part-time staff physician position in the oncology department, until it becomes full-time sometime late next year. Or stay on part-time, if you want, and let them hire another part-time doc, too.”

      Violet knew there were a lot of options available to her, should she decide she wanted to stay on at LCH. The chief of the department had made it clear they would work with her on that score.

      But being around the hospital meant being around Gavin. A lot. And that was a problem for her, because despite the soul-crushing blows life had dealt her, she still wanted desperately to believe that a fairy-tale life was possible.

      Whereas Gavin, who had also weathered some devastating life events, believed their experiences proved that no such utopia existed—or ever would.

      Leery of having his cynicism engender even more doubts, she’d elected to create a healthy distance between herself and her gifted colleague.

      Hopeful that her alone time would bring back her inherent optimism, she said, “I want to be here, Gavin.” Aware he wouldn’t let it go, she said, “I need to take a break. And it’s got to be a big one.”

      * * *

      IT WASN’T THE first time Gavin Monroe had heard the sentiment. His ex-fiancée had said pretty much the same thing before walking out the door four years earlier. And while he hadn’t minded so much then, he found he minded a lot now. Maybe because he was closer to Violet than any other woman who had come into his life.

      Which was strange. Because they hadn’t dated. Or acted on the simmering physical attraction between them in any way.

      Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because he had known Violet was still carrying a torch for her own first love.

      He had respected that for a time.

      Envied it, really, because he had never felt the kind of all-encompassing love and passion for anyone that Violet had apparently felt for Sterling.

      But now, well, the ghost in their lives was beginning to get a little old. It was time Violet moved on and became romantically involved with someone else. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be him if she wasn’t here. Which was yet another reason why he had to convince the lovely physician to stay.

      “At least give up on the glam camping. Move back into town.” Violet paused to take an elastic hair band off her wrist. Lifting her long, chocolate-brown hair off her neck, she twisted the thick, silky strands into a knot on top of her head. The casual updo brought even more attention to the classically beautiful features of her oval face. “I already gave up my place.”

      He inhaled the fragrance of her perfume and felt his heartbeat quicken. “So stay with me.”

      “You can’t be serious.”

      He shrugged. “I’m only there half the time.”

      “You also live in a shotgun house,” Violet scoffed. “With—what?—a thousand square feet of space.”

      “More like nine hundred. And there’s nothing wrong with small houses. It has to be better than an un-air-conditioned barn.”

      “First of all, it’s September. So the worst of the heat has passed. And with the barn doors open, the ceiling fan going, it’s quite comfortable, even in the middle of the day.”

      Of course she wasn’t uncomfortable. She had on a pair of khaki shorts that ended at midthigh and showcased her spectacular legs. A short-sleeved, V-necked T-shirt that did the same for her trim midriff and lusciously full breasts. He, on the other hand, was burning up in a pair of jeans and an open-necked knit shirt. Sizzling hot from below the waist.

      “I don’t understand why everyone is so skeptical about my plan to camp out here for the next couple of weeks.”

      Ever the idealist, he imagined she had all sorts of romantic notions—dramatized nicely by the white-organza-covered Conestoga wagon slash bedroom with the set of custom-made wooden steps leading up to it.

      Trying not to think of what was inside that wagon, except a no-doubt very comfy, very femininely outfitted bed, he said, “Maybe because you’re not really the outdoorsy type?”

      Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Exactly why I’m ‘glamping’ instead of camping.”

      He gave her a long, assessing glance, taking in every pampered inch of her. His desire to protect her intensified. “You got hot water in that shower back there?”

      Violet opened her mouth. Shut it.

      Which confirmed, Gavin thought, she didn’t know.

      “I’m sure it will be fine,” she said stubbornly.

      He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

      She dismissed him with an airy wave of her delicate hand. “I have some money saved. I could always put in a water heater if I want one.”

      He moved in close enough to goad. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of glamping, having too many of the usual conveniences?”

      Violet