Читать книгу The City Girl and the Country Doctor - Christine Flynn - Страница 9

Rebecca sat in the middle of the blue toile print sofa in the family room of her leased house. Across from her, the television in the carved country French armoire was off. So was the overhead light. The only illumination came from the brass candlestick lamp on the end table beside her and the glow of the laptop computer screen on the long maple cocktail table.

On the wall behind her hung a huge replica of a European railroad station clock and, as in the entryway, several framed photos of the Turner family she’d left up to keep her company. The quiet tick of that clock merged with the soft purr of the bandaged cat she had nestled beside her on one of the sofa’s blue-and-cream-checked throw pillows.

Columbus had now stirred a time or two, but he’d yet to waken for long. Whatever the vet had given him still hadn’t completely worn off. Or, maybe, he was just exhausted from his ordeal. Whichever it was, as docile and dependent as he was on her at the moment, she actually found him rather sweet.

Absently stroking his soft fur so he would know he wasn’t alone, she told herself she should turn off the computer. Or, at least, sign off the Internet. As rejected as she felt, and the more she considered what little she’d learned from Jack about his stepfather, she no longer felt as certain about wanting to meet the man as she once had.

That unexpected realization left its own kind of emptiness.

She had wanted to know her father since she’d first noticed in kindergarten that, unlike her, most of the kids had a mom and a dad. She’d been fascinated by the sight of a couple walking down the street with a child, or a dad skating with his son or daughter at the rink at Rockefeller Center, or a man holding the hand of a child. Those kids always looked so happy to her, so protected, so…complete.

She’d wanted a dad of her own. She’d told her mom that, too, but her mom had said she didn’t need one. Her mom had also refused to talk about the man who’d fathered her, so after a couple of tries, Rebecca stopped asking who he was.

She hadn’t stopped daydreaming about him, though. Or about being part of his family. In her mind, that family was huge and happy and everyone welcomed her with open arms. Other than through the state’s birth records, which she’d checked, futilely, years ago, she’d had no hint of where to start looking for him—until just before her ten-year high school reunion last May.

She’d been in the recesses of her mom’s storage closet looking for her yearbooks so she’d be sure to recognize everyone when she’d come across an old diary of her mother’s. It hadn’t been the sort with a lock and, at first, she’d absently flipped through it, thinking to show it to her mom and ask if she even remembered having it.

Then, the dates had caught her attention. So had the names and initials entwined in hearts on some of the pages.

Quickly calculating back, she realized that her mom would have been nineteen and in college when she’d poured her heart onto the neatly written pages. She also realized that she’d been madly in love with a business major named Russell Lever—and that the entries had been made around the time she would have been conceived.

She’d put the diary back and never mentioned having found it. The next day, though, she’d been online to adoption sites checking to see if anyone named Russell Lever was looking for his daughter.

She’d found nothing, but the need to track him down had led her to hire an attorney who had located a Russell Lever in the appropriate age range and tracked him to Rosewood. All the attorney had been able to tell her at that point was that the man was married and that he had a stepson named Jack.

It was right about then that her apartment had been broken into. Since she couldn’t afford to have the attorney gather more information for her and because she wanted out of the city anyway, she’d contacted a real estate agent in Rosewood to find her an apartment.

The agent had come back with several apartments, and the house on Danbury Way. The woman had admitted that the only reason she even mentioned the large house to her was because the lease was a spectacular deal—even less than what Rebecca had been willing to spend on far less space. The problem was that the lease came with cats, which was proving a challenge for the owners since they couldn’t find a lessee willing to pet sit.

Rebecca would have turned it down flat herself, had the agent not mentioned that her sister-in-law lived on the street and that there was a very attractive widower just a few doors down. A local attorney, she told her. Jack Lever.

The Fates were clearly watching out for her. Despite the cats, learning that a man who might well be Russell’s stepson lived on that very street removed any possibility of not leasing the house.

She’d had no intention, however, of waiting around for the Fates to dump either man in her lap. She’d been in Rosewood less than twenty-four hours when, armed with her map, she’d set out to drive by the address her attorney had given her for Russell Lever—only to discover that the address was inside a gated residential community.

She’d returned to her leased house to look him up herself. There had been no residential listing but she’d found Russell Lever Consulting Services in the yellow pages. The address was the one she already had.

Though she’d had no idea what sort of consulting he did, she decided that his office must be in his home. A quick check on the Internet proved him to be “an international management consultant specializing in maximizing profit potential in the purchase and liquidation of businesses and their assets.”

In other words, she’d thought, he helped companies buy up the competition and strip them bare.

She hadn’t been sure how she’d felt when she’d realized that. But she wouldn’t let herself judge the man she thought was her father. It had taken her nearly a week after that, though, to work up the courage to call his phone number.

She’d been informed by a recording that Mr. Lever would return her call if she would leave her name, number and the purpose of her call.

She’d been nowhere near ready to do any such thing. She wanted to see him first, just catch a glimpse of him if that was all she could manage. Uncertainty and nerves had become totally tangled up in the need for their first meeting to be perfect and she wanted whatever advantage she could get to make it that way. But advantages of any sort had been hard to come by.

Since she couldn’t get into the exclusive, gated development to catch a glimpse of him outside what had to be a gorgeous home, judging from those visible from the street, she’d decided to see if she could find out what kind of car he drove so she could spot him driving through those gates.

It took her a week and another fee to the attorney to come up with the make of his cars and their license numbers.

It took another week of sitting outside the gate for an hour or so at different times of the day to see one of the two Mercedes sedans he apparently owned drive past the guard and head toward town.

She didn’t follow.

The driver was a nicely coifed middle-aged blonde who might well have been Russell’s secretary. Or his wife.

It took another week for one of the guards to call the police on her because he finally noticed how often she’d been parked down the street. She told the female officer that the guard must have her confused with someone else. The officer said she didn’t think so and asked for her driver’s license, the papers on her car and wrote down her license plate number before citing her for parking too close to a fire hydrant.

That was when she decided she really did need to get to know Jack. Yet, despite the time they’d spent during their dinners together, he hadn’t told her much about his stepfather. As she’d found with most men, he’d been more than willing to discuss his own views and interests, which basically included politics and his own work. He’d also distracted her with truly fascinating stories about his cases, but he’d been reluctant to talk at all about the man who had raised him. He had, in fact, pretty pointedly changed the subject the only two times she’d managed to bring up his childhood. All she’d been able to gather was that his relationship with the senior Lever was strained at best and that the man had never had time for anything or anyone that didn’t involve work—including Jack.

She listened to the slow tick of the clock, stroked the cat every third beat. She had already concluded that having Jack for a stepbrother could prove a little awkward. Infinitely more important had been the realization that if Russell didn’t have time for the son he’d raised, the odds of the happy reunion she’d envisioned with him welcoming her into his family weren’t looking good at all. That was why she’d thought it might help her chances with the man if she learned something about the business he was in—which was why she’d starting researching on the Internet again.

There was just something about having to try that hard to gain acceptance or affection that made her feel even more lost and dejected than she already did.

Leaning forward, she reached for the mouse, clicked Close and shut the computer down.

The action did nothing to alleviate the huge void inside her.

Oddly, what helped a little was petting the cat.

Restlessness drove Rebecca out into the chilly air early the next morning—right through the newly fallen leaves that totally mocked the time she’d spent raking yesterday afternoon. It was barely eight in the morning, but she’d been up since five checking on Columbus and waiting for the newspaper. It seemed to be some sort of unwritten law that the newspaper always arrived late on the morning a person was up early.

Thinking it might have been delivered while she’d been in the shower and getting dressed, she hugged her arms over the black turtleneck sweater she wore with her slim black slacks and searched all the usual places it might be hiding. The paper rarely landed in the driveway or the front walk, and never on the porch.

She found it in the hydrangea bushes by the front window. She only knew the plants were hydrangeas because elderly Mrs. Fulton across the street had told her how beautiful they usually were when properly watered and cared for. The sweet, silver-haired woman with the unfortunate bouffant also mentioned something about adding iron sulfate or aluminum something-or-other to the soil to keep the blooms blue. Rebecca figured that for someone whose only exposure to plants had been to those tended by a plant service in the offices of Vogue, keeping them watered—and not killing them—was accomplishment enough.

Newspaper in hand, she backed out of the bushes and glanced down the street. The way her house was situated near the top of the cul-de-sac, she could see all of her neighbors’ driveways. Two doors down, she could see Angela Schumacher backing her van out of her drive. Thinking of how much that poor woman had on her plate, what with being a single mom to three children and working two jobs, she lifted her hand and waved. Angela, hurried as always, tossed a wave back. Directly across from Angela’s house was Jack’s. Since his garage door could open any moment, she was about to head back inside when she saw Molly Jackson-Shibb come out her front door and cut past Carly’s driveway toward her.

“I got your message,” she called, hurrying across the street in slacks and a long blue sweater that hid much of her basketball belly. “Elmer’s fine. And thanks so much for plugging that hole. Adam is going to fill it in before he leaves for work. How’s the cat?” she asked, meeting Rebecca in the street. “I would have called last night, but I had a meeting in the city that ran late and your lights were out when I got home.”

“Everything’s okay. Columbus is fine.”

Molly’s expression went from concerned to surprised. “You know which one it was?”

“The vet told me.” She hadn’t a clue how he’d known him from his brother, though. “He’s just missing part of his ear. The cat,” she explained, trying desperately not to be envious of the woman’s glow. At eight months pregnant, Molly looked absolutely fabulous. “Not the vet.”

Concern was back. “Elmer bit off his ear?”

“Only part of it. He probably thought he was a chew toy. Don’t worry,” she assured the woman who was as close to being a friend as anyone on Danbury Way, “it’s not good for the baby.”

Or so she’d heard, she thought. She’d probably have to be a single mom herself to know for certain. Only, Molly wasn’t single anymore. She and Adam had been married for a couple of months now and seemed more in love than ever.

Rebecca’s smile was genuine enough. Molly, though, seemed to catch the bittersweet edge behind it.

The mom-to-be tipped her head, pushed back her long, curly brown hair. “How are you doing?” she asked, sympathy heavy in her voice. “You did great at the party the other night, but it was kind of rough, huh?”

The infamous Halloween party, Rebecca thought. Jack’s nanny, Zooey, had thrown it for his two children. The week before, Zooey had invited everyone on Danbury Way, including her. Knowing she would have to see Jack, Rebecca had toyed with the idea of not going after he’d called off their date, but it was a neighborhood function and, trying to fit in, she hadn’t missed one yet.

Everyone on Danbury Way had been there. Just about everyone had known that she’d been interested in Jack, too—though not a single one of them had a clue why that interest had originally been there. Not even the slowly reforming workaholic waiting for her reply.

The really awkward part was that everyone had also seemed to know that Jack wasn’t seeing her anymore.

“It was a little uncomfortable,” she had to admit. “But not going to the party would have made a bigger deal out of the situation than it is. Jack and I only had a couple of dates,” she reminded her. “And there really wasn’t a lot of real chemistry there.”

“Not like there is between him and Zooey?”

Jack’s new nanny definitely had his eye.

“Nothing like that.” The easy little laugh she gave made it clear that she was far more embarrassed than hurt by the public’s knowledge of his lack of interest in her. “Most women would kill to have a man look at her that way. Except me,” she insisted, wishing the lost feeling she couldn’t shake would go away. “I’ve decided I’m swearing off men for a while.”

Including my father, she insisted to herself, only to have the thought interrupted by a silver, bull-nosed pickup truck coming up the street.

The unfamiliar vehicle had both women glancing toward it. Suddenly sidetracked, Molly’s brow pinched. “Who’s that?”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes at the approaching vehicle. “Dr. Hudson?”

She’d barely recognized Joe Hudson’s undeniably attractive features through his windshield before he swung the vehicle into her driveway and killed the engine. A moment later, the dark-haired vet in khakis and a leather bomber jacket stepped out and started toward them.

“Morning, ladies. Mrs. Shibb,” he called, nodding to Molly as he walked to where they watched him from the middle of the street. “How’s Elmer?”

Joe Hudson was apparently their vet, too.

“Generally?” Molly asked, smiling back. “Or in relation to yesterday’s fight?”

“Both.”

“He’s fine. Thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” His easy smile shifted to Rebecca as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just came by to check on my patient.”

Rebecca wasn’t sure which had the greater hold at the moment, surprise at his unexpected visit, or dismay at the way her heart had jerked at the sight of him. Preferring to ignore the latter, she indulged puzzlement.

“I didn’t know veterinarians made house calls.”

His response was the shrug of his broad shoulders.

Molly lowered her head, whispered, “They don’t,” and stepped back to check her watch. When she glanced back up, speculation fairly danced in her eyes, but her voice returned to normal.

“Well, I have to go,” she announced. “Good to see you,” she said to the vet. “I’ll talk to you later,” she promised Rebecca.

The woman was clearly intent on getting details of the good doctor’s visit. Rebecca hated to disappoint her, but there would be none. She’d meant what she’d said. She truly was swearing off men. In the romantic, physical and emotional sense, anyway. The platonic friendship she’d formed with Molly’s husband was okay. And for support services, they were allowed. But those were her ground rules.

“Sure,” she murmured to Molly, pretty sure she’d covered her bases, and watched her clearly curious friend head back across the cul-de-sac.

“If this isn’t a good time, I can come by later. I was just on my way to the clinic—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. The man was there to check on the cat. That fell squarely into the service category. The least she could do was be gracious to him. “I put on another pot of coffee a while ago. It should be ready if you want some.”

Another pot? Joe thought. “That would be great.”

Joe watched the beautiful brunette in the black turtleneck sweater, slim black slacks and high black heels give him a cautious smile before she led him up the walkway of the rather large, two-story colonial-style house that looked pretty much like all the nicely tended homes in the upper-middle-class cul-de-sac—except for the mansionlike structure taking up two lots next door, anyway. But his attention wasn’t on the house or the neighborhood so much as it was on this particular resident.

He honestly did want to know how the cat was doing. He knew he could have one of his assistants make the usual follow-up call to make sure everything was going all right. But he wanted to know how she was coping, too. There had been no mistaking her uneasiness with the little guy yesterday. Between what he suspected was a fear in general of animals and her total lack of knowledge about the care of an injured one, stopping by to check on both seemed like the most practical thing to do.

Rebecca opened the storm screen and the front door, only to immediately bend in a graceful stoop and hold her hand low as if to intercept a potential escapee. Apparently, finding no cat waiting to run out, she straightened to hold the door for him and closed it when he’d stepped inside.

“The Turners have unique taste,” she said, to explain the eclectic collection of Asian and Mediterranean objets d’art mixed among the chintz prints and colonial Williamsburg furnishings. She preferred a sleeker, more urban style herself. Less clutter, cleaner lines. “They travel a lot.

“Columbus has been hiding out in one of the guest rooms,” she continued, leading him past the entry wall of Turner family photos and into a short hallway. Turning into the last door, she knelt beside the high four-poster bed and lifted the edge of the frilly rosebud print bed skirt. “I don’t know how he jams himself under there with that collar, but he’s still under here if you want to try to get him.”

Joe’s glance moved over her slender, incredibly appealing shape. She had the lithe body of a dancer, all gentle, feminine curves and long, long legs. She was also dressed like a cat burglar. Even the wide and intricate black belt snugged low on her hips was the color of coal.

“Has he been there since yesterday?”

“Only since about midnight. That’s when the tranquilizer or whatever it was you gave him wore off and he jumped down. Before that, I had him on the sofa with me.”

It sounded as if she’d slept on the sofa to keep an eye on the cat. Or, maybe, he thought, to keep the cat company. Either way, it seemed she wasn’t as uncomfortable with the animal as he’d thought she was. Or, maybe, he thought, dead certain he hadn’t misread her fear, her sympathy for its injuries had outweighed that unease.

The other gray cat wandered in. Striped silver and black like its sibling, Magellan held up his tail in a high, slow wave and did a lazy figure eight around Joe’s legs before poking his nose under the skirt to see what had his keeper’s attention.

Noting the other cat beside her, Rebecca eased back as if she didn’t trust what it might do and rose to her feet.

“You’re welcome to get him out if you can,” she said, leaving behind the subtle scent of coconut shampoo as she passed him at the door. “He’ll just run off if I try.”

Ignoring the faint tightening low in his gut, he nodded toward the bed. “Has he been eating or drinking?”

“Both. He turned up his nose at the cat food, but polished off half a can of tuna. I’ll get your coffee. How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen, then. When you’re through, just turn left at the end of the hall.”

Rebecca watched him acknowledge her with a nod before she closed the door in case the cat decided to make a run for it. Despite Molly’s insistence that vets didn’t make house calls, she was truly relieved that this particular one had decided to make an exception. The cats hid from her all the time, and seemed to take particular delight in pouncing out and scaring her witless. Yet, regardless of the way they terrorized her, she needed to know the injured one was okay.

Two minutes later, coffee poured and waiting on the counter that divided the big colonial kitchen from the sunny breakfast nook, Joe walked in with both cats bouncing at his heels.

Her first thought was of the Pied Piper. The animals never followed her around that way. But, then, the man filling the room with his reassuring presence had a definite knack with the four-legged set. Yesterday, she’d actually seen Columbus visibly calm at his touch.

He seemed to have that gift with two-legged species, too. When he had touched her, she’d felt that calming gentleness herself.

Preferring not to think about that odd phenomenon, she focused on his patient. “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine. How about you? How are you doing with him?”

“He’s really doing okay?”

“He really is,” he assured, echoing her phrasing.

“Then, I’ll be better now.” She had checked on the cat every half an hour since she’d awakened at five to make sure he was still breathing. Apparently, she wouldn’t need to do that anymore. “Thanks.

“Tell me,” she hurried on, watching Columbus paw at the cone collar he clearly hated. “When I brought him in, how did you know which one he was?”

“We have a picture of each patient in their file,” he explained. “Tracy pulled the Turners’ files right after you called. I knew this one because the two darker gray marks above his eyes remind me of horns. The marks on Magellan look more like exclamation points.” He glanced toward the piles of papers on the table in the breakfast bay, then to the coffee cooling on the counter. “Mind if I have that?”

She was still dwelling on the markings. “Of course, Dr. Hudson,” she murmured, handing the mug to him. Horns. How appropriate, she thought, now eyeing the cat. The little devil probably was the one who’d ruined her shoe.

“It’s Joe.”

Her glance jerked from the cat who’d just curled up near the other in a sunbeam.

“My name,” he said, since she looked so preoccupied. “Call me Joe.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to the table with its stacks of photographs, envelopes and papers. “You were already working.”

“I was just getting ready to.”

“You said you’re freelancing?”

“For the magazine I used to work for,” she explained. “I have proposals out to a couple of others, too. I wrote for accessories and American fashion. Still do. But I like doing research pieces.”

Mug in hand, looking curious, he nodded his dark head toward the stacks. “May I?”

She lifted her hand toward the table, told him to go ahead. Even as she did, her glance darted from the blue chambray shirt visible beneath the open brown leather jacket that looked more comfortably worn than fashionably distressed, down the length of his neat khakis and landed on his brown, tasseled boaters.

Her mental wheels spinning, she watched him sip his coffee as he frowned at a collection of glossy photos.

He was exactly the sort of man she was writing about in her make-over-your-mate project; intelligent, handsome and sexy, but, she suspected, clueless about fashion beyond denim and khaki.

“Would you be interested in helping me?”

One dark eyebrow rose as she moved beside him.

“One of the articles I’m working on requires men’s opinions. It’ll be really easy,” she hurried to assure him, since he was already looking skeptical. “I have a questionnaire that’s multiple choice and photos that just need to be listed in order of preference.

“Not those,” she muttered, seeing his skepticism grow as he glanced back at the photos of brooding and gaunt males. From his frown, it seemed glaringly obvious that the runway look was something he just didn’t get. But, then, some designers did go a tad over the top. “Those are for a menswear article and are a little…”

“Bizarre?”

Her expression held tolerance. She would be the first to admit that she knew nothing about animals. It was only fair to cut him some slack on the fashion front. “I was going to say cutting-edge. It’s like any of the runway fashions,” she pointed out, warming to her subject. “Everything from hair and makeup on down is exaggerated. The designer is going for a statement. A theme, if you will. You rarely see exact copies on the street, but elements show up on the racks the next season. Or the next,” she hurried to explain, “depending on which part of the country you’re in. Buyers buy differently for different markets. But that’s not the article I need help with.

“I have photos of other designers and more mainstream lines, too,” she said, reaching across the table to pluck a manila envelope off a stack. “Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Versace. Issey Miyake. Armani. He’s my personal favorite.” She turned with a smile. “Levi Strauss.”

She’d already put those photos in each of the five hundred manila envelopes stacked across the back of the table. This morning’s project was to add the last of the photos to the questionnaires already in them and start making her rounds of men’s clothing stores and the men on Danbury Way—with the exception of Jack. That was one man’s opinion her article would have to go without.

“Is this why you came to Rosewood?” Joe asked, watching her punch the metal tab on the envelope through the hole in its flap. “To outfit the suburban male?”

“My job is merely to enlighten.”

His glance skimmed from the animation in her lovely blue eyes to her slicked-back hair. She was truly, classically beautiful, yet nearly everything about her confused his idea of what he usually found attractive in a woman. The severely restrained hair said “don’t touch.” The stiletto heels that put her nearly eye level with most men, including him, seemed to say “don’t mess with me, I’m not vulnerable to you.” She wasn’t soft, yet she was indisputably feminine. The black clothes that covered her from neck to pointed toe weren’t provocative at all by themselves, yet on her, they were as sexy as hell.

“That wasn’t my question,” he said mildly.

Her animation slipped with the quick blink of her lush lashes. “I came here because it’s where I thought I needed to be.” Purposefully looking back to hold his glance, she tipped the envelope toward him. “So,” she continued, clearly intent on sticking to what she felt comfortable with, “are you game?”

He didn’t know what intrigued him more; her contradictions or the effect of her scent, her smile. Seeing no need to figure it out now, he gave her a shrug. “I have no idea how much help I’d be, but sure. I’ll be glad to. You’ll just have to explain all of what you just said. Only not right now,” he continued, taking one last sip of his coffee. “I have to get to the clinic. How about Saturday afternoon?” he asked, setting the mug on the counter. “I’m hiking near the meadow where I took some of the pictures you were looking at. Hang on to that,” he said with a nod to the envelope she held, “and if you want, you can come with me and we can talk on the way.”

“Hike?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the activity she questioned or the invitation itself. Either way, there was no masking her incredulity.

“It’s not much of one,” he assured her. “There’s absolutely no dangling from cliffs involved. It’s more of a walk in the park. Do you have other plans?”

She hesitated. “Not exactly…”

“Then I’ll pick you up at one thirty. The clinic doesn’t close until one.” She was vacillating. He could see it. Not wanting to give her a chance to point out that she hadn’t actually accepted the invitation, he glanced to the pointed toes of her heels. “Wear sturdy shoes. And thanks for the coffee.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

Joe turned then, checking to make sure he didn’t have cats at his feet as he left the house. As candid as she seemed to be, he felt certain that if Rebecca hadn’t wanted to go with him, she’d have been fast on his heels with a reason or an excuse for not being able to join him. All she’d done was stay where she was, looking temporarily speechless.

He had the feeling she wasn’t often at a loss for words.

He climbed into his truck and immediately frowned at the file folders on the passenger seat. He had no business taking Saturday afternoon off to go hiking. He had a mountain of paperwork to fill out for a small business loan to expand his clinic. With any luck, and the kind of hard work that kept him from second-guessing the decisions he’d made, this time next year, he would have started construction on a bigger clinic that would include an animal hospital so he could offer his clients round-the-clock care.

He should also run up north and help his dad and brother finish weather-stripping the barn before the snows set in. But that would take more than an afternoon. Aside from that, nearly every time he’d gone back home lately, his mom had managed to have her latest candidate for her future daughter-in-law stop by.

It had taken his mom a while to forgive him for breaking up with Sara Jennings after he’d graduated from veterinary school, but ever since then she’d been on an on-again, off-again mission to find him a spouse. But he wasn’t in the market for a wife. He had too much he needed to accomplish before he even thought about taking on the responsibility of a committed relationship.

That didn’t stop him from wondering about Rebecca Peters, though. He couldn’t help being drawn by her attempts to care for animals that clearly made her uneasy, and the compassion that somehow pushed her past the worst of her discomfort. She was dealing with them, and her fear, far better than he had anticipated. There was no denying the physical pull he felt toward her, either, but he hadn’t been with a woman in months, so that chemistry was easy enough to explain. What had him most curious as he left Danbury Way, though, was the suspicion that she wasn’t all that happy with the reason she was in Rosewood.

There had been no mistaking the unease that had slipped into her expression when he’d asked what had brought her there, or how quickly she’d shied from the subject. Since she was still doing the same type of work she’d done in the city, he didn’t think the move was job-related, though he’d be the first to admit that he knew zip to squat about what it was she did for a living. Or why. All he knew for sure was that it had been a long time since he’d met a woman who so thoroughly intrigued him. He also knew for a fact that he’d never met one who seemed so clearly out of her element.

He just had no idea how totally out of her element she was until two mornings later when he picked her up for their day in the Catskills.