Falling For The Single Mom. Mia Ross

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       Chapter Three

      Heather went through Josh’s front door and into a living room that clearly announced the owner wasn’t around much. The couch and mismatched chairs looked old, the throw pillows were faded and the windows were unblocked by drapes. Through an open side door, she glimpsed a bedroom that looked as if it had recently been through a mini tornado.

      In short, the single-story cottage was the very definition of a bachelor pad. Then she noticed the collection of framed pictures on the dusty mantel and walked over for a better look. The people in them bore an unmistakable resemblance to one another, and she smiled at the scenes of picnics and muddy backyard football games. In one, a much younger version of her new boss, Erin, was standing atop a pyramid, arms extended in triumph. Recognizing Josh on the bottom row, Heather asked, “How old were you in this one?”

      “Oh, thirteen maybe. Those are my older brothers, Mike and Drew, on either side of me. Right after Mom got this shot, the foundation guys pulled out, and everyone but Erin landed in a pile on top of us. The princess ended up breaking her arm.”

      “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

      Unfazed by her scolding, he chuckled. “You should’ve heard what she was yelling at the time. That wasn’t very nice, either.”

      Heather hadn’t met all the Kinleys yet, but from what she’d gathered, they were one of those big, raucous families that had a lot of fun together. She’d been so occupied by their move that getting acquainted with the rest of Erin’s family hadn’t been a priority for her before. But now Heather found herself looking forward to meeting the rest of the clan.

      “All right,” she said briskly, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s get that hand cleaned up so you don’t scare the doctor half to death when you show up at his office.”

      “I really can drive myself,” Josh argued while she rummaged through a small bank of cupboards for a clean towel and some peroxide. “You don’t have to babysit me like I’m ten.”

      Heather glanced out the window at his vintage green pickup and then gave him a raised-eyebrow look. “I’m guessing that monster has a standard transmission?”

      “Yeah. So?”

      In answer, she dabbed at the slice cutting across his palm that still hadn’t stopped bleeding and held a thick gauze pad in place before wrapping a thin dish towel around his hand. Leveling a stern glare at this unexpectedly stubborn man, she announced, “You’re not using this hand until it’s been stitched and dressed by a professional. Period, end of story.”

      “You sound like my mom.”

      “Good, then I must be doing it right.” Tying the makeshift bandage to keep it in place, she grabbed the keys from their hook by the back door. “Now, let’s go. I have plenty of other patients waiting for me at the clinic.”

      In truth, she didn’t know that for certain, but she was hoping that the softhearted farmer’s affection for the animals would nudge him to get moving in the right direction. He didn’t protest any further, which she was grateful for, and they walked out to his truck together. She wasn’t used to dealing with patients who talked back, and it was more than a little unsettling.

      This one surprised her by strolling to the driver’s door and opening it for her. Considering the fact that he was probably miffed at her right now, the gentlemanly gesture made her smile. “Thank you.”

      “Sure. Doc Sheppard’s on Main Street, up a ways from the Oaks Café, right across from the park. It’s a big old Victorian, gray with a red front door and black trim around the windows. You can’t miss it.”

      Armed with those directions, Heather engaged the clutch, dropped the truck into Reverse and stepped on the gas. With a stomach-rolling lurch, the pickup flew backward for several yards before her reflexes kicked in and she managed to slam on the brakes.

      “Not a word,” she cautioned, easing the shifter into first gear.

      He obliged her, but she could almost feel him grinning at her. When she flicked a look toward him, he pulled a sober face that did nothing to mask the humor glinting in his eyes. Deciding to let her irritation go, she focused on moving through the gears on the old truck without shredding the transmission. By the time they got to town, she had the hang of it and parked in a small lot beside a graceful old home with a wrought iron signpost that read Henry Sheppard, СКАЧАТЬ