Always (4 page)

      Gordon wanted to touch her–desperately. Why did he still care? After high school, she'd written him off. Correction–written
them
off.

      They'd been so much in love.

      
Ah, cut the crap, Lane
. He sounded like a lovesick teenager. Whining.
 

      Suddenly, her knees gave and she slid to the ground, her back pressed firmly against the tree. Her face was still white and her hands trembled as she clenched them in front of her. Max licked her cheek and ear, but she didn't even flinch.

      Gordon stooped at her side, resisting the urge to cup her face in his hands, to stroke her silky hair away from her eyes. Right now, he was jealous of old Max. "It's all right. The bear's gone now."

      She didn't make a sound, but at least she looked up at him again. That was progress.

      The sight of her slightly upturned nose with freckles sprinkled across its bridge made his chest tighten. Her full mouth looked too large for her small face. Dark brown curls with a hint of red fell around her face, framing eyes as green as he remembered.

      Life couldn't be this cruel.
 

      Holding his breath, he studied her pretty face.
Even prettier now
. Oh, yes, life could be this cruel. It was almost laughable.

      Then why wasn't he laughing?

      
Enough
. She was frightened and he was taking a stroll down Memory Lane. "You aren't wearing perfume, are you?" he asked, just in case.

      The terror in her eyes was very real, but she managed to shake her head.
 

      "Good." He chuckled, hoping to ease her mind. "I haven't seen it for myself, but I've heard that bear has a fondness for perfume. Not a pretty sight, I'm told."

      The minute the intended joke left his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake. He reached for her hands, but she shot to her feet before he could touch her and sprinted to her car. Intuition told him to run after her, but common sense demanded he disobey.
 

      Besides, she was already in her car and had the engine started. He took a step toward his cabin as she dropped the Bug into gear and sped away, but his foot brushed against something smooth. Glancing down, he saw her leather bag and sunglasses.

      "Damn." More memories assaulted him as he slid the sunglasses into the bag and stared at it.

        
Memories he didn't want.

      "Get over it," he muttered, walking toward the house with Max at his heels. Now he'd have to go find her. At least this gave him an excuse–not that he wanted one.

      A few feet from the porch, he froze. Suddenly, he knew why she was here–she had to be the new doctor. He'd known about the town's deal with a medical student, but her identity came as a complete surprise. Why would Taylor agree to give three years of her life to Digby?

      A barrage of conflicting emotions sliced through him. Joy. Disbelief. Anger.

      Why hadn't the mayor revealed the doctor's identity? Then another memory brought a smile to his face. Former Mayor Reynolds had selected the candidate personally. Just before his death, Reynolds had made a remark to Gordon about Tom Bradshaw, Digby's new mayor. It hadn't made sense then, but it sure did now.

      
I'd sell my soul to live long enough to see the look on Tom's face the first time he has to bend over and cough for the new doc.

      "That old fart." He drew a deep, cleansing breath, then chuckled. "Taylor." When he'd first opened his eyes and found her looking at him like that, he'd thought maybe he was dead. It could've been heaven–at least, his perception of heaven.

      He glanced down at Max. "Was she real, boy?"

      "Woof."

      "I was afraid of that." Gordon's groin tightened again in recollection, bringing a painful reminder of his close encounter of the insect kind. At least her arrival and his physical response had proven one thing.

       
Those damned ants hadn't done any permanent damage.

      Chapter 2

      After locating the brand new and confusing overpass, Taylor drove in circles for nearly an hour before she stumbled across the old, familiar road to Digby. If she'd found it the first time, she could have driven straight into town.

      And avoided seeing Gordon.

      The way he'd looked at her...

      "Stop, already." She parked her car, banishing further thoughts of this morning. Of Gordon.
 

      Digby hadn't changed much in ten years. It was almost as if she'd never left. Her stomach clenched.
But I did leave
. For a darned good reason, too. Blinking back the stinging sensation in her eyes, she stooped to retrieve her purse and medical bag, coming up one short.
 

      Realization slammed into her with a definite lack of finesse. "Oh, no." She'd left her bag at Gordon's place.

      In her mind, she pictured him again bent over in the stream. Why couldn't he have acquired a pot belly, or gone bald, or
something
to make him less attractive? His prematurely gray hair only made him sexier.
 

      Not fair.
 

      She'd have to go after the bag later, or maybe she could send someone after it. Yes, that was a much better–safer–idea.

      She looked across the street, locating the house immediately. Her parents' old house. When the mayor's secretary told her the place was for rent furnished, Taylor'd asked her to lease it without hesitation. Some wise investor had obviously seen its potential.

      Her childhood home. Mom and Dad were happily retired in Florida now, but Taylor's memories of this place flooded and warmed her. Smiling, she tilted her head back and gazed up at the restored structure, complete with turrets and gingerbread. The new owner had taken great pains to ensure the historical integrity of the place.

      Tall pines and aspen still shaded the back of the house; her mother's favorite rosebush stood in the corner of the yard, loaded with promising pink buds. It was a little early yet for flowers in the high country. She hoped a late frost wouldn't kill them.
 

      Drawing a deep breath, she opened the gate and fished the key from her jean pocket. She stepped onto the porch, clutching it in her fist.
Home
.
 

      "Temporarily," she said quietly, allowing herself this one fantasy. For three years this would be home, then she'd apply for every research grant in the nation until she found one. The right one. A shiver raced through her at the thought of unraveling medical mysteries...

      Her life's ambition–her dream.

      As the door swung open, an insistent pressure filled her chest. Her vision blurred and she blinked again to clear it, refusing to acknowledge the barrage of emotions attacking from all sides.

      
Temporary, Taylor,
she reminded herself as the screen swung shut behind her.

      The house still smelled of lemon oil, just as it always had. A blue overstuffed chair sat near the front window and a small table occupied the room's center.
 

      A gasp tore from her throat when she caught sight of the piano.
Mom's piano
. She dropped her purse and rushed across the room to touch the instrument, remembering the countless hours her mother had played for them.

      The phone rang, slicing through her memories, dragging her back to the present. She shook herself and crossed the room to pick up the receiver.
 

      "Hello," she said, then cleared her throat and repeated the greeting.

      "Mayor Bradshaw here. Welcome to Digby, Dr. Bowen," a friendly male voice boomed through the receiver.
 

      Taylor held the phone away from her ear slightly. "Thank you."

      "I've only been in Digby about five years," he continued. "My secretary told me this is a homecoming for you."

      "Well..." Taylor shrugged out of her sweater and dropped it over the back of the chair. "It's only temporary."

      "I hope you change your mind about that." Several seconds of dead space occupied the phone line, then he said, "I trust my secretary had the house in order for you."

      "Yes, it's lovely."

      "Great. I'm sorry I can't say the same about the new clinic."

      "Oh?" Alarm bells clanged in Taylor's head. She could see herself practicing medicine right here in the den, just like Marcus Welby.
 

      "Bad weather this spring delayed construction." A loud sigh came through the line. "It's an empty shell right now."

      "I see." Taylor mentally counted to ten and flopped into the chair. "So where am I supposed to see patients?"

      "This is only a temporary setback–I've already made other arrangements."

      "Oh...?"

      "Yes, temporary office space at the Digby, uh, Clinic."

      "Wait a minute here." Taylor rubbed her forehead with thumb and forefinger. "You mean Digby already has a medical cli–"

      "Well, not exactly. If you can meet me at 311 Drumond Avenue around noon, I'll explain everything. Because of the insurance, this is the only alternative."

      
311 Drumond
. The address didn't sound familiar. Taylor weighed her options.
Zip. Zilch. Zero
. "Sure, Mayor."

      "Everything's going to be just fine, Doctor."

      Taylor mumbled something polite but noncommittal and hung up the phone. For some reason, she had the feeling Bradshaw was trying to pull one over on her.

      "Paranoid." Shaking her head, she stood and grabbed her car keys. "Time to unpack." Then figure out how to get her medical bag back.
 

      Painlessly.

*
 
*
 
*

      Gordon hated being late. That alone would've been enough to ensure his foul mood, but running into Taylor this morning had really settled the matter.

      His old Jeep had to go–that's all there was to it. This was the third morning in less than a month that he'd had to coast down the hill into town.
 

      With Taylor's medical bag in tow, he climbed out of his Jeep and took a moment to peek through the front window to inventory his waiting room. Mrs. Johnson and her equally neurotic cat–just what he needed.

      Drawing a deep breath, he mustered every shred of patience he could find, which didn't amount to much, and walked around to the rear entrance. The door swung open before he even found his key.

      Not a good sign.

      "Good morning."

      Sue Wheeler's bubbly voice made him want to growl louder than his most cantankerous patient. "Good? Why are you always so...?"

      "Pleasant?" She grinned mischievously. "It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

      Sue was an excellent receptionist and a good friend, but sometimes her eternal cheerfulness was downright sickening. "I don't remember that being in your job description."

      "When did you give me a job description? I have witnesses you know." She held his lab coat out by the collar. "You said for me to answer that damn phone before it drove you insane. So I do and I file charts and you pay me. Remember?"

      Gordon dropped the medical bag on the corner table, then slipped into his lab coat. Max sniffed the medical bag and sighed. It wasn't food. The aging setter ambled off toward Gordon's office at the end of the hall, where he'd curl up on the rug and only move with the shift of the sun's rays.

      
Lucky stiff.

      He turned his attention back to Sue, an attractive single mother–they'd even dated a few times, but they remained just friends. She wanted romance and magic in a relationship, but, for whatever reasons, it hadn't happened between them. According to Sue, it wasn't in their stars.