One Night with the Doctor. Cindy Kirk

was halfway across the room when Poppy’s eyes met his. He told himself to just keep walking. But something inside him locked into place at the connection.

      She held his gaze long enough for him to see the heat shimmering in those beautiful green eyes. Heat directed not at Winn Ferris, but at him. Then Winn touched her arm and Poppy shifted her gaze back to the business executive.

      Yet there was no denying for that one instant there’d been a tangible connection between him and Poppy. Benedict found himself whistling as he walked out the door.

      * * *

      Over the next two weeks, Benedict’s thoughts strayed to Poppy at odd times. But he didn’t have a chance to do more than wonder how she was doing. A rash of skiing and motor vehicle accidents had kept his surgical schedule full.

      After finishing an emergency open reduction of a comminuted tibia fracture, Benedict left the hospital to return to his office. He still had to see the handful of patients who’d chosen to wait, rather than reschedule. To his surprise, he discovered that one of his associates, Dr. Mitzi Sanchez, had stayed to help him out.

      By the time the last patient limped out the door, even the receptionist had gone home. Apparently most of the staff had plans for Valentine’s Day.

      Other than me, he thought. And Mitzi.

      He and his beautiful colleague had once been involved. Now they were simply friends.

      Benedict sat behind his desk and dictated a letter back to a primary care physician thanking him for a referral. So many surgeries in the past fourteen days had left him behind on such paperwork. Since he didn’t have anything going this evening, he told himself it would be a good opportunity to get caught up.

      “Tell me you’re not hanging around here all night.”

      Benedict recognized Mitzi’s voice and a jolt of uneasiness swept through him. He hoped she wasn’t on the verge of suggesting they go out for dinner or something equally crazy.

      “Your concern about my social life warms my heart.” He kept his tone light and his eyes focused on the monitor.

      “What’s the matter, Ben? Couldn’t find a date?”

      He heard a hint of laughter in Mitzi’s tone as well as the familiar bite.

      Finally glancing toward her, Ben noticed she’d exchanged her white lab coat and work clothes for a dress that hugged her curves and reminded him of stretchy silver lace. High heels in the same color showed off slender legs. He didn’t blink an eye when he noticed her hair. Instead of the color of honey streaked with caramel as it had been yesterday, it was now a rich dark walnut.

      He narrowed his gaze even as relief flooded him. There was no way she’d gotten herself all dolled up for him. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

      Her full lips lifted. “Kelvin Reid.”

      Ben had treated the NFL linebacker several months earlier when he’d been injured in a skiing accident while vacationing in Jackson Hole. “Proximal humerus fracture with dislocation.”

      Mitzi chuckled. “Kelvin will be happy to know you remembered him so personally.”

      Pushing back his chair, Benedict stood, but remained behind his desk. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friendly.”

      “We chatted several times when he came into the office to see you,” she said with a studied nonchalance deserving of an Academy Award.

      “If he came back to take you out on Valentine’s Day, you must have hit it off.”

      “What can I say?” She drew up one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Men find me irresistible. Unless, of course, we’re talking about you.”

      “Mitz,” he began.

      “Don’t look at me like that.” Her eyes held an impish gleam. “I’m over you every bit as much as you’re over me.”

      “That’s good to know,” he said in a dry tone that made her chuckle.

      “But you are my friend.” She fluffed her hair with her fingers. “That’s why I stayed late to help see patients. By the way, you’re welcome.”

      Though he’d already expressed his appreciation to her earlier, he smiled. “Thank you, again.”

      “You know, Ben—” she brought a manicured finger to her mouth, tapped it against her lips “—you should check out the Torch Singing competition tonight at the Flying Crane.”

      “Thanks for the offer, Mitz.” He spread his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “But I have no desire to spend the night with you and your new boyfriend. That would be awkward for all concerned.”

      “Well, for starters, Kelvin is my friend, not my boyfriend. And I didn’t invite you to spend the evening with us. Kelvin and I have dinner reservations at the Gun Barrel,” Mitzi said, referring to a place known for their mesquite grilled steaks and wild game. “You’ll like the atmosphere at the Flying Crane. Trust me.”

      “I’ve been there before,” Benedict informed her. “It’s a nice enough place, but I’m not really in the mood to listen to a bunch of schmaltzy love songs.”

      “Even if Poppy Westover is singing?”

      Feeling the weight of Mitzi’s assessing gaze, Benedict deliberately kept his expression bland. “Anna Randall is also competing. Tripp asked me to go with him to support Community Safety Net. I turned him down.”

      Mitzi pointed to the phone on his desk. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

      “Why would I want to do that?” he drawled, even as he considered the possibility.

      “Because you want to do your duty and support this important fund-raiser.” Mitzi’s brightly painted lips lifted in a Cheshire cat smile. “Why else?”

      * * *

      Poppy gazed into the dressing table mirror and added a touch of gloss to her cherry red lips. A stranger stared back at her. Cassidy Kaye, the backstage stylist and former high school classmate, had arranged Poppy’s hair into a “top reverse roll.” Poppy had been apprehensive but had to admit the pompadour-like style suited her face. And she decided the two bright sparkly pins that winked back at her—one from above her temple, the other just behind her ear—added a festive touch.

      Her dress, a 1940s era floral sheath, nipped in at the waist and fell just below her knees. Bending over, Poppy adjusted the seams of her stockings then lifted to straighten the strand of red beads encircling her neck.

      “You’re up next.” The balding stage manager with a walrus mustache motioned Poppy forward. “Break a leg.”

      Offering the man a shaky smile, Poppy smoothed suddenly sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress. What had she been thinking when she agreed to participate?

      Granted, she loved to sing. That was the reason she’d joined the church choir. In fact, it had been after one of the evening rehearsals when Lexi had ambushed—er, pulled her aside—and innocently asked if she wanted to volunteer for a Jaycee fund-raiser. Being civic-minded, Poppy had immediately said yes. When she learned what she’d agreed to do, she’d considered pulling out. It had been years since she’d set foot on a stage.

      How could she possibly perform with only a few weeks to pick her song and practice? But then, she reminded herself to stop setting impossibly high standards. The performance didn’t need to be flawless or perfectly choreographed. This was a fund-raiser, not a Broadway musical.

      From where Poppy stood just offstage she could see that not only were all the tables full, there were people standing in the back. Of course, she reminded herself, more people meant that a community organization, which did a lot of good, could do even more.

      When she heard the applause for Anna Randall and saw the midwife take a bow, Poppy’s stomach quivered. Adrenalin mixed with a healthy dose of fear