Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town. Susan Carlisle

      His stomach clinched. The scene she described was everything he’d ever dreamed of as a kid. Slowly releasing a breath, he pulled his car into the paved drive Shelby indicated. The house was a red-brick ranch style with a two-story detached wooden garage and stairs running along the outside.

      “You’ll be staying there.” Shelby pointed at the garage when he turned off the car engine.

      “I’m staying here?” If working in the makeshift clinic wasn’t bad enough, staying in this homey neighborhood might kill him. “With you?”

      “You’re not staying with me. I rent this out. It just happens I don’t have a tenant right now.”

      Things had just got more interesting.

      She glanced over her shoulder to the neighbors watching from across the street, then turned to him and grinned. “You’ve already started the neighbors talking. We don’t often see cars like this in Benton.”

      “I guess you don’t.” Taylor felt his lips thin. He didn’t like being talked about. He’d spent his youth being the topic of gossip, being made fun of. At least these people weren’t talking about him in relationship to the town drunk.

      Her smile had disappeared by the time his gaze met hers. “You know, if you don’t want people to notice you then you might try not living so extravagantly.” She opened the door and climbed out, picking up her satchel.

      How had she read him so well? Were his feelings that obvious? He’d spent years learning to hide them. How had this woman he known mere hours been able to see through him?

      Taylor stepped out of the car and slammed the door, facing her. “Extravagantly?” His voice rose. “I’ll have you know I work hard for what I have. I can afford this car and I don’t have to justify it to you or anyone else.”

      “Little touchy, aren’t you?” she replied with a noticeable effort to keep her voice down.

      “Everything okay, Shelby?” a deep voice called.

      Taylor glared at the man who had crossed the street to stand at the end of her drive. Small towns never changed. People were always in your business.

      She walked a few steps toward the man and waved. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Marshall. I’m just showing Dr. Stiles where he’ll be staying while he’s in town.”

      Taylor went to the trunk of the car, popped it and grabbed his suitcase.

      “Okay,” Mr. Marshall said. “We’ll see you at the block party, won’t we?”

      “Sure. Looking forward to it.”

      “Bring the new doctor along if you wish. We’d like to meet him.”

      Taylor certainly hoped that she wasn’t planning on him attending any party. The Arctic would become a beach before he’d attend any social function around here. He’d made himself into an arts and opera guy. Benton didn’t even have a movie theater, from what he could tell.

      Shelby turned, her gray eyes flashing, her tone tight with control. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again where my neighbors can hear. They worry about me.”

      She motioned towards the garage stairs and headed that way. “You’ll not come here and upset them or create fodder for talk at their dinner tables. For some reason I don’t understand, Uncle Gene thinks I’m a halfway house warden for bad-boy trauma doctors.” The last few words were said more to herself than to him.

      So, Shelby didn’t like being the talk of the town any more than he did. Maybe they had more in common than he’d given her credit for.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHELBY dropped her bag on the bottom step of the stairs that ran alongside the garage.

      “Since you don’t want to be a topic of gossip any more than I do,” Taylor said calmly, “maybe you should just agree to disagree about my car.”

      With great effort Shelby pushed down the temptation to say something. Having a public argument would certainly give her neighbors and friends a good tale to tell.

      “Just what did you do to get on Uncle Gene’s bad side?”

      “Uncle Gene?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

      “Judge Gene Robbins. He’s my uncle,” she said as she started to climb the stairs.

      “So that’s why I’m here.” The words were little more than a mumble, as if he was contemplating the meaning of life. After a moment he commented, “We’ve had a few legal dealings. Nothing special.”

      Shelby stopped and looked down at him. What did he mean? Was he an ax murderer? No, her uncle wouldn’t send anyone to work with her who wasn’t a decent person.

      Taylor’s look moved slowly up from where his focus had been, on her bottom. Heat filled her cheeks. It had been a long time since a man had noticed her and made his appreciation so obvious. She and Jim had been an item since childhood, leaving little room for another man to show interest. The men in Benton had never approached her in anything other than friendship since Jim had been gone. In truth, she’d not given them a chance. She couldn’t take the chance of losing someone she loved again.

      Shelby hurried up the stairs. Taylor was here to help in the clinic and that was all. On the landing she opened the door to the apartment.

      “You don’t lock up?”

      Turning round, she found Taylor too close for comfort. Standing on the small landing that made her a step higher than he, Shelby was almost at eye level with him.

      From there she could see the tiny laugh lines that radiated out from the corners of his eyes. Apparently he wasn’t always the hypercritical person his body language indicated he was. His eyes were brown with small flakes of gold.

      The twist of the corner of his mouth brought her attention to his firm, full lips. She blinked.

      “Doesn’t your husband tell you to lock the doors?” he asked.

      “I’m a widow.”

      “I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it.

      “I am too.” She turned away from the sincerity in his eyes. The sadness that usually accompanied thoughts of Jim was suddenly not as sharp.

      Shelby hadn’t missed the look of displeasure on Taylor’s face when he had entered the clinic or when he’d seen the working conditions. She’d also not missed the expression of disgust when he’d realized she drove an old truck. His knuckles had turned white on his steering-wheel when he’d pulled onto her street, as if he didn’t like her neighborhood. Did he think that living here was beneath him? Or was it that she rubbed him the wrong way?

      “How does your family feel about you being away from home?” she asked.

      “No family.” He made it sound like he liked it that way.

      Entering the one-room apartment, Shelby moved to one side to prevent any physical contact. He made her feel nervous and she was never nervous around men. After dropping his bag on the floor, he looked around the place.

      Shelby’s gaze followed his. A full bed with her grandmother’s hand-quilted blanket dominated the room. There was a small refrigerator-stove combo in one corner. A two-seater table with chairs sat in front of the double window that looked out onto the back of her house. A braided rug, sofa and chair finished off the living area. A bathroom took up the other corner. She was rather pleased with her decorating efforts. It made a cute place for one person to stay.

      “I think you will be comfortable here,” she said with a smile full of pride.

      He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead he picked up his bag, carried it to the bed and began unzipping it.

      “Not up to your usual standards, I’m sure,” she mumbled.

      Taylor