Home To The Doctor. Mary Anne Wilson

house as if they’re planning an event for world peace.”

      “That’s why I’m down here.” He glanced up. “No, that doesn’t mean you can move in, either.”

      James held out a hand palm out toward Ethan. “Did I ask?”

      “You were going to,” Ethan said, then swiveled his chair to face the papers on the desk again.

      “I was thinking, though, if you had another fall, where would you want me? Up at the house where you have to ring for me or right here to help you up off the floor?”

      He remembered the doctor “helping him up,” and knew if he had to choose between James and her, the choice was simple. “I’ll manage,” he said.

      “You always do,” James conceded. “So what do you want for dinner?”

      A red-haired doctor with a gentle, cool touch. The thought stunned him, and he pushed it out of his consciousness. “Surprise me.”

      “You’ve got it.”

      Ethan checked the wall clock. It was almost six. One look out the window showed him the rain was easing, but the wind was gusting off the water. “Bring it down in an hour.”

      “No problem. What about the bachelor party? Are you in or aren’t you?”

      He’d barely had time to spend with Joe since his friend had come back, and had only met his fiancée once—she’d given Ethan a quick hug and a thank-you for throwing them the wedding party. He wanted to sit and talk with his friend. “Sure, count me in.”

      “Great,” James said. “I haven’t been to a good bachelor party for years.”

      “Don’t count on this one being groundbreaking,” Ethan commented and turned back to the contracts.

      “I’m easy. Give me a beer and someone coming out of a cake and I’m happy.” With that, he left.

      When the door finally shut, Ethan knew he couldn’t work. He slowly got to his feet and, with the aid of his crutch, made his way back through the house to the French doors. He pushed open the closest one and stepped out onto the deck. The rain was barely a mist now, but the air was still heavy with dampness and a deep chill.

      He noticed in passing that the pot he’d broken hadn’t been replaced, just removed. He gripped the railing, and looked down at the beach to the south. He didn’t realize what he was doing, until he found himself scanning the water’s edge in both directions. She wasn’t there. No red-haired doctor walking the sands. He was vaguely disappointed, then he chuckled to himself. Who wouldn’t be disappointed not to see Morgan Kelly coming toward them?

      The wind was stronger now, but he didn’t mind it or the cold. Since the accident, he liked the coolness around him. Heat tended to make him feel suffocated, and worse yet, it made his bad leg throb. Now all that bothered him was that he was here, alone. Maybe he’d call Natalie and see if she could come over for a day or so. But when he thought about it, he found the idea didn’t appeal to him for some reason.

      Before he could figure out why, he caught movement on the beach to the south, and thought for a moment that he was conjuring up what he wanted to see instead of seeing the reality of an empty beach. Was that really Morgan Kelly coming into view, her brilliant hair loose and wind-tossed around her face? Walking toward him with easy strides, in dark clothes, the sway of her hips hit him hard. She came closer, and he knew she was real. She was there, on the beach heading in his direction.

      He watched her, wondering why he felt so pleased that she’d appeared again, then she stopped. She turned and tilted her head and, even at the distance, he felt the impact of her gaze meeting his. Instinctively, he raised his hand in greeting and saw her do the same. He didn’t even think twice before cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting down at her, “Come on up!”

      She cocked her head to one side, then touched her right ear. He thought he could hear her reply, “What?”

      He yelled louder. “Come up!”

      This time he knew she heard him and was pleased when she nodded, waved, then started walking toward the bluffs. She was soon out of sight, and he waited. Just when he was starting to think she’d simply vanished, he heard her footsteps hit the wooden treads of the deck steps, then she appeared around the corner of the house.

      Her hair was curling furiously around her shoulders, and her makeup-free face showed more than a few freckles. She wore slender jeans, her leather jacket open to show a white shirt tucked into the band at her narrow waist and boots that looked too heavy for her to walk in. The smile she gave him made his heart catch for a moment, then he smiled back. “Another house call?” he asked, wondering why he couldn’t just say, “Good to see you again.”

      She came closer, and he saw her lips were as pale and as full as he remembered, and she probably wasn’t more than five foot three or four. She had her hands pushed into the pockets of her jacket and color touched her cheeks from the cold.

      “I guess you could call it that,” she responded in a voice that was soft yet throaty at the same time. He saw her gaze flick over him before she met his eyes again. “You know, if you run around half-dressed in this weather, it can’t be good for you.”

      He waved aside her comment, saying, “I’m cold-blooded,” and was taken back when she flashed a grin so bright it felt as if the sun had just broken through the clouds.

      “Like your ancestor?”

      He chuckled at that. “No, that old guy was hot-blooded, in the truest sense of the word. He had eight children, two illegitimate, at least that he knew of.”

      Her smile turned rueful. “Well, that’s a fact I hadn’t heard before. How about you? Eleven small Graces hiding around here?”

      “I told you, I’m cold-blooded.”

      She shrugged. “I guess so. It’s freezing out here.”

      He motioned with his head toward the open door. “Come on in, and I can get you some hot coffee or something more robust.”

      “Hot grog?” she asked, the smile growing again.

      “If you want it, you’ve got it.”

      “I don’t even know what it is,” she admitted, and he thought he saw a dimple on her left cheek.

      “Come on inside and I’ll get the recipe.”

      He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then. It was as if he was standing back watching himself flirt with the doctor, and he wasn’t at all sure what the other Ethan was doing. Or if he really wanted it to go anywhere. But with her less than a couple of feet from him, he wasn’t going to question his actions too much. He liked looking at her, enjoyed her smile and remembered her lying on top of him in bed during their first meeting.

      “If you have to cook grog, don’t bother. I don’t cook.”

      He motioned to the doors again, and she entered the house. He followed her inside and closed the door behind them. “I don’t know if it’s cooked or not, but it does sound good on a night like this.”

      She turned to face him, and for a moment, the overhead light caught her in its soft glow. He felt his stomach tighten. She really was pretty in a simple way with her freckles and the bluest eyes. He would have laughed at that little summation if she hadn’t been standing there. Simple? What woman was ever simple? None he’d known.

      “Do me a favor and hit the button on the fireplace by the wood cradle.”

      She headed toward the couches that faced the view outdoors and the huge stone fireplace. He watched her as she stripped off her jacket, laid it on one of the couches, then crossed to crouch in front of the hearth. Her jeans were tighter than he’d thought, and he felt a familiar tightening in his. It has been a while, he thought as he sat.

      He heard the whoosh as the fire caught, and Morgan stood, watching the leaping flames before she looked