The Doctor's Surprise Family. Mary J. Forbes

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СКАЧАТЬ nudged the door with a fingertip. The cabin lay empty. Crossing the threshold, she paused on the welcome mat to scan the great room/kitchenette.

      Her guest was a neatnik. No shirt or jacket draped the jungle-green loveseat or the pair of big-cushioned chairs. No socks hid under the round coffee table in front of the river-rock fireplace. Beside her on the mat, footwear marched in military sync: the harness boots he’d worn on the bike, a pair of loafers and a pair of worn gray slippers.

      Intrigued, she stepped out of her rubber boots. Didn’t bikers leave cigarette butts and beer cans, girlie magazines and hunting brochures all over? Shouldn’t clothes be strewn haphazardly across the furniture?

      Why, Kat? Because Shaun used to toss his clothes around the house? A habit you hated, until that terrible moment when you’d give anything to have it back?

      She scanned the rooms a second time. Tidy, neat. Everything had its place.

      On the knotted-rag rug near the sofa, two big stones—where had they come from?—supported an array of books. Moving closer, Kat read titles on hiking, computers, philosophy and…. She tipped the lone magazine from its slot. Journal of the American Medical Association?

      Something niggled in her mind. Something Lee mentioned years ago…Yes, that was it…Dane Rainhart had joined the service as a doctor. Kat hadn’t kept track; by then she’d been married.

      “Can I help you?”

      At the sound of his deep voice, she jumped on the spot. “Oh!” Spinning, she pressed her hand against her throat where her heart bounded like a deer in hunting season.

      He stood in the doorway, a powerful silhouette against the morning light.

      Kat swallowed. “I—I didn’t expect you.”

      “Obviously.” Remaining on the threshold, he blocked her flight.

      Her gaze darted past his shoulders, to the freedom of the outside world. What did she really know about this man? He’d rented her cabin, yet hadn’t welcomed her attempt at housekeeping. In reality, he could be a man hiding from the law, a killer on the loose.

      Yes, she had known him more than twenty years ago, but people change. Life alters. For better and worse.

      Shaun’s death proved that.

      Looking at Dane Rainhart, she suspected he’d experienced worse as well. Had it changed him? Ignited anger? Prompted a vendetta mission?

      Sadness, definitely. She recognized the emotion the moment he looked at her six days ago, amidst snow and rain.

      Latching onto that recognition, she thrust out the flowers. “Something from my garden.” When he continued to bar the doorway, she babbled on. “If you’d like, I could put them in a glass…On second thought,” she tried to smile, “why don’t I set them on the coffee table and let you deal with them however you wish.” She laid the bundle down. “Okay, then. I’ll just get out of your way.” Avoiding eye contact, she barreled toward the door. One way or another, he would have to move.

      “Kaitlin.”

      She stood close enough that if he wanted he could reach out—

      “I’m sorry I intruded, Dane. It won’t happen again.” Then with a force that surprised her, “Please, let me pass.” Come hell or high water, she was getting out of this cabin.

      “Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”

      Within his space, she could finally see his face, those indigo eyes full of regret, that shockingly sensuous mouth. He’d been where the wind danced in his hair; locks tufted at his hairline and along the crown of his head. “Who said I’m afraid?” she asked.

      A smile quirked. “It’s all over your face. Sometimes my height can intimidate.”

      She folded her arms against her stomach. As a teenager, he’d been lean and wiry. At thirty-eight, he carried twenty extra pounds of muscle and sinew, and towered at least ten inches above Kat. Yet, gut instinct said he wasn’t a bad guy.

      “Look,” he said. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but I’d hate for that nice bunch,” he nodded to the coffee table, “to wilt before the day is done. Would you show me what to do?”

      Again his mouth tweaked, and a tremor of heat shot through her. What would it be like to have him kiss—

      Lord, what was the matter with her? Turning on her heel, she hurried over, snatched up the bouquet and went to the kitchen sink. When he closed the door and removed his hiking boots, she pictured him setting the footwear on the mat, then slipping on the comfortable slippers.

      She reached into the cupboard she’d stocked with chinaware, drew out a tall drinking glass, and filled the container with warm water.

      “They’re very pretty.” He peered over her shoulder, igniting nerve endings she hadn’t realized she possessed.

      Her fingers fumbled with the stems as she inserted them into the glass. Water sloshed onto the counter. She said, “You need to trim the ends each day and give them fresh warm water.”

      “Trim the ends?”

      “Yes. With a pair of scissors or a knife.”

      She glanced over. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The fact he had yet to remove his gloves puzzled rather than worried Kat. Was it possible he had an aversion to germs, or psoriasis?

      She stepped toward the utility drawer next to his hip—and saw the knife sheathed on his belt.

      Whoa. How had she missed that? Eight inches in length, the thing was a dragon slayer.

      Her gaze snapped to his. “Do you always carry knives?”

      His irises darkened. “Only when I go into the wilderness.”

      “Wilderness?” She glanced toward the window and the wooded hills on her five-acre property. “Dane, have you forgotten this island has an area of only twenty square miles? We have chipmunks, squirrels and coyotes. And some deer. Firewood is not the Rockies, Alaska or the Everglades.”

      “No,” he said quietly. “I haven’t forgotten what’s on this island.”

      Their eyes held. And again she felt something primal sizzle between them, a lightning she had never experienced.

      Catching the tang of the outdoors emanating from his green flannel shirt, she took in the mud-stained hiking boots positioned at the door, before she sized up his black cargo pants. Specks of mud and grass clung to his shins. Where had he gone?

      “Kaitlin?”

      Her head jerked.

      A jagged dimple materialized above his scarred jaw. “The flowers?” Amusement lingering in his eyes, he opened the drawer, dug out a pair of scissors, then laid the instrument gently on the counter next to her posies.

      Kat released an uneven breath. “Okay,” she began. “Each day you snip off the СКАЧАТЬ