Highland Fling. Jennifer Labrecque

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      TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

       AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

       STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

       PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      MILLS & BOON

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      To Dr. David K. Monson, surgeon extraordinaire.

       Thank you for “rescuing” my leg

       and giving it a happy ever after.

       You’re my hero.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Epilogue

      About the Author

      Coming Next Month

      1

      KATE TRACED THE PUCKERED, rough edge of the scar that ran from his side across the smooth satin of his back. He was warm and—

      “Dr. Wexford, could you take a look at Mr. Chesney’s x-ray before you leave?”

      —he was a figment of her imagination. The intern’s question jerked her back to the present. It was a good thing her shift was ending, if she was daydreaming by the coffee machine again. She was officially off-duty, but she could spare the time to check an x-ray. Not only did she love what she did, it was off-duty dedication that had earned her the position of assistant head of ER at Atlanta’s prestigious Walker Medical Center.

      “Absolutely.” Kate drained the rest of her double latte with the espresso shot, took the film and held it up to the fluorescent light. She shook her head. Work in a city ER was neither boring nor predictable. “Did Mr. Chesney give you any indication he has a small rodent in his rectal area?”

      Dave Reddick, straight out of med school, nearly choked. “No, doctor, he didn’t.”

      “My guess is a female hamster, three to four months old. I think Dyer’s on the surgical rotation. See when he wants to schedule Mr. Chesney to retrieve his friend.”

      Kate handed the x-ray back to the fresh-faced Reddick and headed for the door.

      “Uh, Dr. Wexford?”

      She stopped and turned. “Yes?”

      “How’d you know?”

      “The pointy nose and long tail was a dead giveaway.”

      “Uh, no ma’am. I meant how’d you know it was a female, three to four months old?”

      “Oh that.” Kate shrugged and smiled at the earnest resident. “I made that part up.”

      Reddick’s mouth dropped open and then he recovered and offered a stilted laugh. “Right.”

      “But he does need to have it surgically removed so get him scheduled.” She walked out of the break-room and ducked into the staff bathroom.

      Good. It was empty. She checked her watch. Forty-five minutes. She could still make it before the museum closed, even though she’d sworn she wasn’t going back again. She shrugged out of her white coat and hung it in the locker, knowing it was inevitable.

      Tonight was the last night. After tonight it was a moot point. But all day she’d felt this odd compulsion, almost, as silly as it sounded, a calling to see him one more time. No. It was beyond silly. Kate had always prided herself on her practical, pragmatic nature. She didn’t do things like show up again and again to moon over a man in a portrait. But tonight was the last night. What harm could come of one more foolish trip?

      She dragged a brush through her short hair. Hmm. Time to schedule a touch-up. She had major root action going on. She dug around in her purse and pulled out her lipstick.

      The door behind her opened and two women strolled in. Oh, great. Dr. Torri Campbell, the Bitch from Hell and her underling who reminded Kate of Nurse Ratchett.

      Kate ignored the two women and leaned into the mirror to smooth on her lipstick.

      “Hot date tonight, Dr. Wexford?” Torri arched one perfect blond brow, her green catlike eyes alight with malice.

      Kate and Torri had pulled ER rotations at the same hospital out of med school and then later found themselves at Walker Medical Center vying for the same position. They’d never particularly hit it off, but once Kate had been named assistant head of ER, Torri had all but declared war.

      “Yes, I do have a hot date waiting, Dr. Campbell. Thanks for asking.”

      Torri, a tall statuesque blonde who used a Palm Pilot to juggle her numerous dates and men, knew good and well Kate Wexford didn’t have a date. Why break a six-month dry spell?

      “New man in your life? How in the world did I miss that?” If a person could expire from sheer bitchiness, Torri would’ve been six feet under long ago.

      Kate, СКАЧАТЬ