Bluegrass Baby. Judy Duarte

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      She managed a smile. “That’s fine.”

      Trying to hide her nervousness, she turned to the brick wall and spotted the nearest photo. A small brass plaque said it was the first fire chief of Merlyn County dressed in a Santa Claus outfit and sitting at the wheel of a fire truck. She touched the wooden frame that had been bolted to the wall, then glanced at Kyle and caught him watching her.

      He smiled. “I guess the proprietor wants to make sure tipsy, local history buffs can’t run off with any of the old photos.”

      Before Milla could respond, the waitress brought a Merlot for him and a Chardonnay for her.

      Kyle lifted his wineglass in a toast. “To the start of a friendship.”

      A friendship? For the briefest moment, Milla wrestled with disappointment. A part of her, a very young and romantic side she’d almost forgotten about, had hoped for more.

      But when her gaze snagged his and she spotted the vibrant sparkle in those baby blues, she realized he had more than friendship on his mind. And so did she. But with her inexperience, at least with guys like Kyle, she wasn’t sure how far she wanted things to go. Still, the idea of letting this night play out romantically intrigued her and sent a warm sense of anticipation coursing through her blood.

      She took a sip of wine, then studied him over the rim. He was gorgeous. And charming. And no doubt, a bit of a playboy, the way his dad had been.

      Was Kyle Bingham the kind of man she should avoid?

      Or the kind of man every woman needed to experience at least once in her life?

      Unwilling to give in to either wonder or indecision, she eyed him carefully, as though she knew exactly what they both wanted. Her hormones seemed to kick up a notch. And sexual curiosity appeared to be on the rampage.

      What would it be like to touch him, to kiss him, to lose herself in the passion that blazed in his eyes?

      She looked at him, as though he might explain the attraction that crackled between them like an electrical storm. But he just sat there, waiting.

      Watching her.

      Kyle found himself practically gawking at the young midwife who’d caught his eye on more than one occasion since he’d arrived in Merlyn County a few months ago.

      Damn. Milla Johnson was one beautiful woman, although she didn’t seem to be aware of it. She’d dressed simply in a classic black dress. And she hadn’t done much to her chestnut-colored hair, other than brush it until it shined. The ends seemed to naturally curl under in a sophisticated style.

      She was the kind of woman who stood out in a crowd. The kind of woman who made his libido sit up and beg.

      He usually complimented the lady he was with as a means of breaking the ice and gaining an advantage. But tonight, the words came easy. “You look pretty, Milla.”

      She flushed at his comment, then smiled, flashing him two dimples he could get used to seeing. “Thank you.”

      The women Kyle usually dated were fully aware of their beauty, their sexuality. Milla, although just as lovely and attractive, wasn’t as sure of herself, which, for some reason, pleased him, making her all the more appealing.

      She took a sip of wine, then ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

      A surge of heat shot through Kyle’s bloodstream, arousing him, tempting him. She glanced again at the photos on the wall, completely oblivious, it seemed, of the effect she was having on him.

      Kyle leaned back in his chair, unbalanced by his arousal and by the effect she had on him. The pretty midwife had stirred a powerful hunger, one that dinner at Melinda’s wouldn’t sate.

      It was early yet, and there was no reason for him to believe the evening would end with anything more than a handshake. Which would be a shame. He couldn’t remember being this attracted to a woman in a long time.

      She set her wineglass on the linen-covered table and looked at him. Her big brown eyes bore evidence of a trying day.

      “What’s the matter?”

      She fingered the cocktail napkin that rested under her wineglass, rolling the edge then unrolling it. “I almost didn’t come inside.”

      “Are you sorry you’re here?” He hoped not. Milla had stirred something inside of him. And not just sexual attraction. There were other things going on, too. Admiration. Respect. Milla Johnson was a dedicated professional who had a genuine concern for her patients. And she had a depth to her that the other women he dated didn’t have.

      “I ran into Joe Canfield outside.” Her voice softened, and she looked at him with Bambi eyes that made him want to tear into the guy who’d upset her.

      “He wasn’t very nice,” she added.

      Kyle reached across the table, taking Milla’s hand—a move that probably surprised them both. But he quickly recovered. “Don’t let that guy get to you. You didn’t do anything wrong, and the judge ought to be able to see through him.”

      She nodded, but her vulnerability smacked him upside the heart, making him wish he could protect her from all the things that went bump in the night. His soft side didn’t surface very often, yet it struck with a vengeance tonight.

      Before they finished their drinks, the hostess led them to a quiet booth in the dining room and handed them menus.

      The waiter brought a basket of warm bread and placed it on the table. Kyle welcomed the interruption. And as he reached for the golden-brown loaf, Milla did the same. Their hands brushed, shocking him with a tingle of heat that lasted long after the brief contact. Neither of them commented, yet her silent gaze told Kyle she’d felt it, too.

      They remained pensive for a while, engrossed in the entrées Melinda’s offered, Kyle supposed, although he was far more interested in getting through dinner and seeing what pleasures the rest of the evening might bring.

      Milla set her menu to the side of her place setting and leaned slightly forward. “What made you decide to be a doctor?”

      Her question took him aback, since most people asked why he’d chosen pediatrics, a specialty that surprised anyone who’d known him growing up.

      Kyle had always been prone to mischief, a result of being one of Billy Bingham’s brats, he supposed. As a kid, he’d gotten a reputation for snaking his way out of trouble. But there didn’t seem to be any use going into that.

      “When I was fifteen, a couple of buddies and I went on an overnight campout at a lake near the house where I grew up. We barbecued hamburgers for dinner.” Kyle studied the flickering candle that sat in the middle of the linen-draped table. He didn’t like to talk about that day, maybe because the memory still clawed at his chest and throat.

      Milla leaned forward, listening. Casting some kind of healing balm on the pain he’d harbored and the utter helplessness he’d felt as he watched a strong, robust kid dwindle away, plagued by an unknown disease.

      “My best friend, Jimmy Hoben, liked his meat rare,” Kyle continued.

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