For the Sake of Warwick Mountain (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Douglas, Charlotte

  “How did you accomplish so much so fast?” she asked.

  “I learned to do without sleep when I was an intern,” he explained. “Working late, it didn’t take long to frame and drywall. And less than an hour to arrange the furniture.”

  A tall, narrow packing box leaned against the wall next to the armoire. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A shower unit. There’s just enough room to squeeze it next to the toilet, but I wanted your okay before I installed it.”

  “That’s fine,” Becca stammered, still trying to comprehend how much the man had completed in so little time. Not only the work, but also the amount of thought and planning that had gone into the project. Matt had needed more than money alone to turn this corner of an abandoned building into an attractive, livable space. Although, judging from the obvious quality, he hadn’t skimped on cost.

  “Where do you sleep?” she asked.

  “Sofa makes into a bed. Not that I’ve used it much yet. Sit down. Try it out.”

  Again Becca hesitated. If she was going to ask a favor for Lydia, however, she had to be polite. She perched on the edge of the sofa. The smooth, glove-soft leather caressed the back of her bare legs and the plump cushions seemed to embrace her.

  Matt went to the refrigerator, removed a bottle of wine and took two glasses from the shelf beneath the microwave. “I’ve been waiting for someone to help me celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?”

  “That I haven’t lost my touch as a carpenter. Guess it’s like riding a bicycle. It all came back quickly once I started working.” He uncorked the bottle with distinct expertise, filled two glasses and handed Becca one.

  She eyed the drink warily. She hadn’t drunk wine since her days in Pinehurst. Alcohol clouded her thoughts, loosened her inhibitions and made her maudlin. She needed a clear head to deal with Matt.

  “A toast?” he asked.

  Thinking quickly, Becca clinked her glass to his. “To better medical care for the folks of Warwick Mountain.”

  “A noble sentiment,” Matt said, “and one I endorse, but this isn’t the Rotary Club.” He touched his glass to hers. “To friendship.”

  He drank his wine, but she didn’t touch hers. She wanted to be his friend. Wanted it too much. Her relationship with Grady had begun with friendship.

  And ended in disaster.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “No.” She tossed him a false smile and chugged her wine to cover her discomfort. The smooth, cool liquid slid down her throat with ease, and she drank again. “But if you want your fried chicken while it’s still warm, you’d better eat now.”

  He retrieved the basket from the front room, set it on the table and began removing its contents. “Oh, man, fried chicken, potato salad, homemade pickles, biscuits and peach cobbler. Becca, you’ve saved my life.”

  The wine hit her stomach and spread a rosy glow throughout her body. “Hope you enjoy it. I have to go.”

  She set down her glass and headed for the doorway, but he caught her hand. “Please, stay and eat with me.”

  “I can’t. I only came to—” She clamped her lips shut. Her head buzzed from the wine. Why not, she thought. Truth was truth. “I only came to ask a favor.”

  “Granted,” he said, “but only if you’ll stay for dinner.”

  She’d walked straight into his trap. “You don’t know what the favor is.”

  He pulled out a chair for her at one end of the table, then topped off her wineglass and placed it in front of her. “Don’t have to know. I know you. You wouldn’t ask me to do anything immoral or illegal.”

  “Or impossible?” Without thinking, she sipped the wine.

  “That might take a little longer.” His grin was infectious as he tugged his chair next to hers and began filling two plates from the dishes she’d brought.

  “Any more midnight visitors, strange lights?” He spooned enough potato salad onto her plate for three people.

  She shrugged. “Haven’t been awake to check. And Emily hasn’t noticed anyone, either.”

  “Have you looked in the woods to see if someone’s been digging again?” He handed her the plate.

  “Should I?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Was she being insensitive to possible danger, or had her introduction to Matt addled her brains?

  His expression was solemn, accentuating the handsome contours of his face. “Wouldn’t hurt—if you don’t go into the woods alone.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. The woods were like an extension of her home and she felt as safe there as she did in her own living room. “I’m too old to believe in the bogeyman.”

  He scowled. “Don’t be. There’re some real monsters out there. They pop up on television and in the newspaper every day.”

  She didn’t know whether to feel flattered by his concern or annoyed at his implication she couldn’t take care of herself. No one had really worried about her since Granny died, and she decided she liked having someone care about her welfare.

  He dug into his potato salad with gusto, his hunger apparently unimpeded by thoughts of criminals. But his next question took away her appetite.

  “You are locking your doors now?” he asked.

  She felt her cheeks flush with guilt. “I did the first night....”

  “And since?”

  “I forgot.”

  He used what Granny would have called “colorful language” before she’d have washed his mouth out with soap. “Don’t you care what happens to you? Or at least to Emily?”

  “Of course.” She shot her answer back at him. “But you’re asking me to change a habit of a lifetime.”

  “I could call you every night and remind you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I care what happens to you.” His intense brown eyes glowed with an emotion she couldn’t name, didn’t want to.

  “You don’t have a phone,” she said, breathless and not knowing why.

  “It’s being installed tomorrow. Patients will need a way to contact me.”

  In a pig’s eye, she thought, recalling the censure he faced, but she’d allow him to finish his meal before she broached that unpleasant fact.

  He set down his fork, his former expression replaced by a look of obvious self-satisfaction. “I know the perfect solution.”

  “To what?” Had he read her thoughts about the community’s collective cold shoulder?

  “Your security problem.”

  “I didn’t realize I had one,” she admitted dryly.

  “You need a dog.” His voice was triumphant, as if he’d just found the answer to world peace. Being pleased with himself gave him a boyish appearance she found entirely too engaging.

  She swallowed her bite of chicken. “I can’t afford a dog.”

  He shook his head. “You can get one at the pound. Free.”

  She adored dogs, but his idea wasn’t practical. “A watchdog? An animal that size would eat me out of house and home.”

  “You don’t need a big dog. A little terrier makes a lot of noise. It could sound the alarm, scare off intruders.”

  His enthusiasm was contagious, and the suggestion wasn’t entirely without merit. “Emily’s been pestering me for a dog.”

  “Where’s the nearest animal shelter?”

  “In town.”

  “Let me take you and Emily in tomorrow. You can pick out a pet.”

  “Whoa, not so fast. Life may be more spontaneous
where you come from. Here, we like to think things over for a while before taking action.”

  She couldn’t help feeling gratified by his interest. She and Emily had been on their own too long, with only Aunt Delilah to take an interest in their well-being.

  “Didn’t mean to pressure you,” he said. “But I’ll be happy to drive you to the pound if you decide you want a dog.”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “I’m a sucker for dogs.” A wistful expression flitted across his face. “Couldn’t afford one growing up. Didn’t have time for one in medical school.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m hardly ever home. Wouldn’t be fair to have an animal under those circumstances.”

  “If you had time for a dog, what kind would you choose?”

  “A full house. A golden retriever, a black Lab, one of those fluffy little bichon frises that look like a powder puff, and a Chihuahua. For starters.”

  His eyes held a yearning that embarrassed her and made her look away. Another soft spot in the supposedly hard, cyncial shell of Dr. Wonderful. The man loved dogs. He was becoming harder to resist by the second.

  To return to less treacherous ground, she changed the subject. “Aren’t you curious about the favor you promised me for having supper with you?”

  “I figured you’d get around to asking eventually.”

  She explained about Jake’s sister, Lydia, and the havoc her sciatica was wreaking on Delilah’s marriage.

  “I’ll be glad to take a look at her,” he said. “After all, that’s why I’m here.”

  Becca shifted uneasily in her chair. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Maybe not, but there’re some new treatments—”

  “I’m not talking about the sciatica.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She gulped more of her wine to calm her nerves.

  Matt set down the chicken leg he’d been eating, wiped his hands on his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, not knowing how to begin. “It sounds so silly when I say it out loud.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, looking for an instant like a mischievous little boy instead of one of Hollywood’s handsomest men. “Want to whisper it instead?”

  She laughed, then turned somber again. “I have to sneak you into the house at Aunt Delilah’s while Uncle Jake’s gone to town day after tomorrow.”

  Matt groaned and slumped in his chair. “Don’t tell me. It’s the Dr. Wonderful curse, isn’t it?”

  Becca finished her second glass of wine and nodded. “People see you as exotic, dangerous. Fascinating to talk about, interesting to meet, but they don’t want you treating them. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s the way mountain folk are.”

  “Crazy?” His impish look returned.

  “Slow to trust, especially when they think of you as if you came from another planet.”

  “Don’t remind me. Planet Hollywood.” He shoved his fingers through his hair in obvious frustration. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve landed on an alien world.”

  She rose to her feet, surprised to find the room tilting ever so slightly. She set aside the plates, and dished up cobbler. Very carefully. She’d definitely had too much wine, and in spite of the food, it had gone straight to her head.

  “How come Delilah’s willing for me treat her sister-in-law?” Matt asked before digging into his dessert.

  “Desperation.” Becca sank into her chair, happy to stop the room from spinning.

  “And why has Lydia agreed? Her pain’s that bad?”

  “They’ve held her incommunicado.”

  “She doesn’t know about Dr. Wonderful?”

  “Apparently she’s the only person on the mountain who doesn’t.”

  As if the full implication of the situation had just struck him, Matt set down his spoon, and emotion sparked in his eyes. Whether anger or frustration, Becca couldn’t tell.

  “You mean no one wants me to treat them?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shoved back from the table, stood and glared at her. “Then what am I doing here?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “LIZZIE MCCLAIN,” Becca said, summing up in one word the most important reason Matt had come to Warwick Mountain.

  The anger that had stiffened Matt’s spine seemed to drain out of him, and he sank back in his seat. “You think there’s a chance her parents will relent?”

  “I’m counting on it. I’ll do everything I can to talk them into Lizzie’s surgery.”

  “At least you’ll have some improvements on your clinic.” His voice and expression reflected more than a touch of irony.

  “Fixing this place up was your idea,” she reminded him, then quickly added, “but I am grateful.”

  He sighed. “If I’d known I’d be this useless, I’d have taken that South Pacific cruise.”

  “You gave up your vacation to come here?” He’d sacrificed his time off. Sacrificed it for nothing if she couldn’t break down the walls of prejudice that faced him. Guilt gnawed at her.

  “Dwight and I close the practice for several weeks every summer. Makes getting away easier without putting a burden on each other.”

  Becca shook her head and was horrified to find tears springing to her eyes. Had to be the wine. She’d never been a weepy kind of woman. “I’m sorry.”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes bright with sympathy, and closed his hand over hers. Her senses leaped at the warmth of his skin against hers—until her brain kicked in, and she jerked her hand away.

  “Hey,” he said with a surprising gentleness that made her want to throw herself into his arms. “It’s not your fault. You’re the one who’s trying to help.”

  To her added horror, the unwanted tears spilled over and splashed down her cheeks. “But I didn’t know Dr. Dwight would break his wrist. Or that he’d send Dr. Wonderful in his place. Or that everyone would be so blasted suspicious of you.” She swiped the traitorous tears from her cheeks

  with the backs of her hands. “Nothing’s gone the way I’ve planned.”

  He stood again, grasped her by the elbows and practically lifted her from her chair. With a gentle tug, he led her toward the sofa, sat in the corner and pulled her down into the crook of his arm.

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” he said softly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit for all you do for these people. It isn’t your fault they’re too stubborn to take advantage of it.”

  Alarms sounded in her head, urging her to stand and run, but her heart encouraged her to snuggle deeper into the warm circle of his arm.

  She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t resist the unexpected comfort of his embrace, the obvious concern in his eyes. Talk about a bedside manner. Matt had it in spades.

  Suddenly she realized exactly how much danger she’d placed herself in. She could resist handsome. She could resist fame. She could even resist wealth. But what defenses did she have against a man so innately nice? So transparently kind?

  She rose on wobbly legs, intending to leave, but only made it as far as the opposite end of the sofa before common sense demanded she sit again. She was in no condition to drive, especially on mountain roads.

  “Maybe I’d better have a cup of coffee,” she suggested.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Tipsy?”

  She nodded, feeling sheepish. “I must have drunk more wine than I realized.”

  He filled her coffee cup and brought it to her. “Females metabolize alcohol more quickly and efficiently than males. Add to that your slighter weight, and even two glas
ses of wine can pack a punch.”

  “They teach you that at medical school?” She chugged her coffee, hoping to banish the wine’s effect.

  “Yep, that and the fact that consuming caffeine after too much alcohol only produces a wide-awake drunk.” His wide grin enhanced his appeal, and she glanced away.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to be accused of debauching the local schoolmarm.”

  “Been there, done that,” she replied, then horrified by her admission, sat upright so quickly she spilled her coffee.

  “No problem. I’ll get it.” Matt grabbed a napkin and sopped the liquid from the leather sofa, then turned his calm gaze on her. “Want to talk about it?”

  Neither his voice nor his expression held censure or prurient interest, but Becca’s face flamed with embarrassment nonetheless. “Why would I want to talk about the most humiliating time in my life?”

  “To prove it doesn’t hold any power over you?” He settled next to her on the sofa, but without invading her space.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “You also interned in psychiatry.”

  His deep, rich laugh echoed through the open rafters of the old building. “No, but a doctor sees people when they’re most vulnerable. I’ve learned from experience that encouraging patients to talk about what’s bothering them helps them deal with it.”

  “I’m not your patient.” Her voice held an edge sharper than she’d intended.

  Matt, however, didn’t blink. “No, but I’d like you to be my friend. From what you’ve told me, I’m guessing you’re probably the only friend I’ll have here.”

  She felt instantly contrite. He was only trying to be helpful, and she’d gone on the offensive. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Don’t apologize. I was sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and deserved to have it slapped.”

  She arched her neck and leaned her head against the back of the sofa, still feeling the wine working its way through her bloodstream, suffusing her with a delicious peacefulness. She was enjoying Matt’s company. Too much. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, so at ease with a man.