Claiming the Doctor's Heart. Renee Ryan

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      Although his shrug was casual, Ethan’s face went blank, like a switch turning off.

      Connor didn’t press. He never did. But he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to his friend on that last tour of duty in Afghanistan.

      “Doesn’t matter why,” he said aloud. “You’re stuck with me now, treating nothing more complicated than runny noses, an occasional spider bite and a broken bone or two. Riveting stuff.”

      Ethan laughed, as Connor knew he would. They saw worse, sometimes much worse, but nothing compared to what his friend had encountered in a war zone.

      “Speaking of broken bones.” Ethan shook his head. “Robbie Anderson is in Exam Room 2.”

      Again? “Which one this time?”

      “Left tibial shaft. The kid was lucky, though. It’s a stable fracture and the fibula wasn’t damaged at all.”

      “I suppose that’s something.”

      As they reentered the building, Ethan added, “There’s considerable swelling, so I’ll have to splint the leg first, see about a cast later. Tasha’s prepping him now.”

      Good. A former search and rescue coordinator, the nurse knew her way around broken bones.

      “You take 1.” Ethan jerked his chin at the closed door farther down the hallway. “The patient specifically requested you.”

      Not quite sure what he saw in the other man’s eyes, Connor reached for the chart in the door holder.

      Chuckling softly, Ethan disappeared into Exam Room 2.

      Alone in the hallway, Connor gave the chart in his hand a cursory glance. He groaned softly. The patient behind door Number 1 was Lacy Hargrove, Village Green’s self-proclaimed most eligible bachelorette. No denying the young divorcée was beautiful, in an over-the-top, plastic sort of way. She was also on the prowl for husband number three.

      Connor groaned again.

      The woman made him uneasy. She made most men in town uneasy, even the stalwart, battle-toughened, Ethan Scott. No wonder the coward had pawned her off on Connor.

      Hitting his cue perfectly, Ethan stuck his head out of Exam Room 2. “Tag, buddy, you’re it.”

      Connor snarled. “Anyone ever mention you have a mean streak?”

      “Only every other person who meets me.”

      * * *

      Following the GPS voice commands on her phone, Olivia swung her car onto Aspen Way. Anticipation building, she inched along, verifying addresses as she went. Each block she covered brought her closer to the edge of town. At the last house on the street, she slammed on the brakes.

      Her mouth dropped open and waves of delight washed over her. Connor had bought Charity House.

      The sprawling old home had once been an orphanage in the 1800s. Or rather, a baby farm, which was really just a fancy name for a place where prostitutes in the Old West sent their illegitimate children for a solid Christian upbringing.

      Both the Scotts and the Mitchells had ancestors directly connected to the place. Some of the stories were legendary, others so far-fetched Olivia hadn’t believed them for a moment.

      Members of both families had worked at the orphanage, while others had married someone closely connected. All had lived out their faith, showing God’s grace to abandoned children and their prostitute mothers.

      Smiling, Olivia swung her car onto the gravel road leading to the grand old mansion.

      A sense of rightness filled her. This temporary nanny position came at a perfect time in her life. During the day, she would concentrate on taking care of Connor’s daughters. Maybe even teach them how to cook while testing out new recipes. At night, she would work on her business plan, perfecting it until she was ready to present her idea to a bank or potential investor.

      Win-win.

      As long as she kept her heart firmly guarded and remembered her place in Connor’s home.

      The three-story house was undergoing renovations, as evidenced by the scaffolding. Even in its unfinished state, the home was something straight out of a fairy tale—whimsical in design, the sharp angles of the roof were softened by clinging wisteria, rounded windows and wrought-iron balconies.

      Head full of damsels in distress and happily-ever-afters, Olivia parked her car at the end of the drive and climbed out. She’d barely commandeered the steps leading onto a lovely wraparound porch when the front door flew open. Out spilled a wild-eyed, frazzled young woman Olivia immediately recognized.

      “Good morning, Avery.”

      “What’s good about it?”

      The poor girl looked so overwhelmed, so flustered that Olivia found herself wanting to lighten the mood as quickly as possible. “That’s some kind of greeting after all these years.”

      Avery’s face fell. “Oh, Olivia. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Cheeks bright pink, her golden eyes round with remorse, she clasped Olivia’s hands. “It’s been a bit hectic this morning.”

      Aside from her flushed face, several blond locks had slipped out of her ponytail and now fluttered over her eyes.

      “Are the girls giving you trouble?”

      “Not even a little. They’re wonderful. But that dog of theirs?” Avery executed an impressive eye-roll. “He’s a walking nuisance on four pudgy legs.”

      Samson’s latest victim. Unlike Carlotta’s experience with the puppy, at least Avery only suffered a large case of frustration.

      “Let’s try this again.” Avery blew a strand of hair off her face. Her smile came quicker now, fuller. “It’s really great to see you. You look amazing.”

      “I was thinking the same about you.” She squeezed her old friend’s hand. “And the good news is—”

      A loud crash from inside the house cut off the rest of her words.

      “Samson, no.” A panicked squeal followed the command. Then came the cringe-worthy statement “Not on the floor.”

      “Here we go again.” Avery took off in a dead run.

      Trailing after her, Olivia only had time for impressions as she rushed toward the back of the house. She noticed the décor and concluded that, much like the exterior, the interior was still a work in progress.

      She caught up with Avery in the kitchen. She was on her hands and knees attacking Samson’s latest magnum opus with quiet fervor and a handful of paper towels.

      The culprit was nowhere in sight. Nor, Olivia noted, were the twins.

      “Megan and Molly hustled the puppy outside, probably to keep me from killing him. I wouldn’t have, you know.” Avery tossed the soiled towels in the trash, then went to wash her hands СКАЧАТЬ