A Child Under His Tree. Allison Leigh

on Georgette Rasmussen’s door. Not unless they were on a dare or something.

      “I wish we didn’t have to come here.”

      “I know.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. “I wish that, too. We’ll only be here in Weaver for a little while, though.”

      It felt like months since she’d had a moment to draw breath, when it had really only been three days since she’d gotten the call about her mother. One day to absorb the news that the woman she hadn’t spoken to in six long years had died of a sudden heart attack. One day to pack up and drive nine hours from Idaho Falls to Weaver, Wyoming. One day to meet Tom Hook, the attorney who’d contacted her in the first place.

      That’s the way she meant to continue. Dealing with things one day after another until she and Tyler could go back home where they belonged in Idaho. Then she could examine her feelings about losing the mother who’d never wanted to be her mother in the first place.

      She pushed away the thought and started to cross her legs, but the doorknob suddenly rattled and she heard muffled voices on the other side of the door. She sat up straighter and brushed Tyler’s hair back from his eyes again. “You’ll like Doc Cobb. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”

      “Is that why my middle name is Cobb?”

      “Mmm-hmm.” Considering everything her onetime boss had done for her, she should have stayed in better contact with him. She held up the baggie. “Put your marker away for now.”

      Tyler rolled onto his side and sat up but missed the bag when he dropped the marker. It rolled under the table.

      “Good aim, buddy,” she said wryly and crouched down to reach blindly beneath the metal base.

      She heard the door open behind her just as her fingertips found what she was looking for. “Sorry for the wait,” she heard as she quickly grabbed the marker.

      She was already smiling as she straightened and turned. “Doc—” The word caught in her throat, and all she could do was stare while everything inside her went hot.

      Then cold.

      Not because good old Doc Cobb, with his balding head, wildly wiry gray eyebrows and Santa-size belly was standing there.

      But because he wasn’t.

      Instead, the man facing her was six-plus feet of broad shoulders and very lean, un-Santa-like man. Sharply hewn jaw. Unsmiling mouth. Dark, uncommonly watchful eyes. Even darker hair brushed carelessly back from his face.

      Seeing Caleb Buchanan was like being punched in the solar plexus.

      She hadn’t seen him face-to-face in nearly six years. But there was no mistaking him now.

      And no mistaking the fact that—while she was blindsided at the sight of him here in Weaver, when he should have been a surgical resident somewhere else by now—he didn’t seem anywhere near as surprised by the sight of her.

      Well, duh, Kelly. Her name was written plainly in Tyler’s medical chart. How many Kelly Rasmussens could there be, particularly in the small town of Weaver?

      The young blonde nurse stepped between them as she rolled the cast saw unit into the room.

      Panic suddenly slid through Kelly’s veins and she snatched up their coats from the chair.

      “You can stay,” the nurse assured, looking as cheerful as ever. “The machine looks more intimidating than it really is.”

      Kelly’s mouth opened. But the assurance that she was perfectly comfortable with the saw stuck in her throat. She didn’t dare look at Caleb. And Tyler was starting to look alarmed.

      How could she explain to any of them her urgent need to flee?

      Caleb took a step past her, approaching the exam table. “I’m Dr. C, Tyler. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

      The nurse patted Kelly’s arm comfortingly as she moved the saw next to Caleb. “He’s going to cut off your cast and put the new one on,” she chirped. “Did you decide what color you want?”

      “Red.”

      “Again?”

      “I like red.”

      One part of Kelly’s brain observed the scene. The other part was imagining herself grabbing Tyler and running for the hills.

      “I was expecting Dr. Cobb,” she blurted.

      The nurse blinked, clearly surprised. Kelly felt an insane urge to laugh hysterically. The practice was still clearly Cobb Pediatrics. The sign on the outside of the building said so. When Kelly had called for an appointment, that was the greeting she’d received.

      “He’s on sabbatical,” Caleb said. “Put your coats down, Kelly. It’s been a long time, but you’re here and your son’s cast needs to be replaced.”

      Your son.

      She let out a careful breath, finally daring to glance his way as he set the medical chart on the counter next to the sink before flipping on the water to wash his hands. He was wearing an unfastened white lab coat over blue jeans and an untucked black shirt. “How’d you break your cast, Tyler?”

      “Sliding down the banister at my mother’s house,” Kelly answered before Tyler could say a word. She knew it was silly not to want her son talking to Caleb, but she couldn’t help it. And she felt sure that Caleb would have already read the information the nurse had recorded in Tyler’s chart. “I would have taken him to the hospital if I’d known the doctor was away,” she said to the nurse.

      “No need for that.” Just as Kelly had spoken to the nurse, Caleb aimed his comment at Tyler. “Banisters are pretty cool. How’d you break your arm in the first place?”

      “Jumping out of a tree,” Kelly answered again. Even though it took her closer to Caleb than she wanted to be, she edged closer to Tyler. Every day that she looked at her boy, she could see his father in him. How could Caleb miss the similarities that were so obvious to her? “Sabbatical where?”

      “Florida,” the nurse provided. “Six more months yet. He’ll miss all of Weaver’s lovely winter.” She widened her eyes comically. “Poor guy.” She draped a blue pad over Tyler’s lap. “You’re lucky today,” she told him. “Dr. C is going to take your cast off himself. He doesn’t do that for just everyone.”

      Kelly’s nerves tightened even more. But she could see Tyler’s alarm growing as he stared at the saw. She dumped the coats on the chair again and rubbed her hand down his back. No matter what she felt inside, her son’s welfare was first and foremost. “It’s a special kind of saw, buddy. Only for cutting through casts. It won’t hurt a lick.”

      His eyes were the size of saucers. “How do you know?”

      “I had a broken wrist once, too. Remember I told you that?”

      “She did,” Caleb concurred. In a motion steeped in familiarity, he reached out his long arm and snagged two gloves from a box next to the sink. “She was fourteen years old.” As he worked his fingers into the blue gloves, she hated the fact that she noticed he wore no wedding ring. Not that the absence of one proved anything.

      Not that she cared, either way.

      The lie was so monumental she felt herself flushing.

      “Flew right over the handlebars of her bicycle,” he was saying. “Saw the whole thing. I’m sure your mom remembers that day very well, too.” His eyes snagged hers for the briefest of moments, and she looked away.

      The nurse handed him the saw. “This’ll be loud, Tyler, but your mom’s right. It won’t hurt,” Caleb said. He turned it on and the loud whine filled the room.

      Kelly didn’t want to, but she moved out of the way so he had more room to maneuver. Only then did she realize she was still clutching the