Baby, Drive South (6 page)

He shifted his weight to his good leg, then moved the crutches forward and swung his body to catch up. It was an awkward movement, but muscle memory kicked in from years before when he’d been on crutches for an injury he’d rather forget.

“Looks like you got the hang of it,” Dr. Salinger said. She opened her bag and removed a bottle of pills. “Stay off your feet for the next couple of days. These are for the pain. You should take them with food.”

“I’m famished,” he admitted.

“The men are having a barbecue in the meadow for our visitors,” Kendall said, then jerked his head toward Dr. Salinger when she wasn’t looking. Porter, not understanding whatever his brother was trying to tell him, lifted his hands in confusion.

She picked up her bag. “My work here is done.”

“Dr. Salinger,” Marcus said into the silence, his voice solicitous. “Have you had time to unpack?”

“Not yet,” she said, her voice hesitant.

“I hope your room is satisfactory,” Kendall added in a rush.

She gave him a little smile. “Yes, it’s very comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll call it a night.”

Her slim shoulders drooped as she walked toward the door. Guilt washed over Porter. The woman was a long way from home, and her first day in a strange place had been spent taking care of him. Yet he’d been no gentleman. If his mother were privy to his behavior, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing.

Porter felt the expectant gaze of both of his brothers on him, but he couldn’t conjure up any flattering praise to assuage his earlier slight. Instead, he resorted to an approach more familiar to him—flirting.

“Hey, darlin’, it’s way too early to call it a night,” he said, using the voice he reserved for thirty minutes before a bar’s closing time. He winced—his words sounded cheesy even to him, an opinion seconded and thirded by his brothers’ withering looks.

Dr. Salinger turned back and kept moving, but pinned him with her intriguing green eyes. “Maybe so, but I have a book to finish, and I wouldn’t want my cat to get lonely.”

Porter’s mouth opened, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak.

The thud of the door closing behind her mirrored the impact of his heart dropping to his stomach. He was an ass.

“Porter, you’re an ass,” Marcus confirmed.

“What are we going to do?” Kendall asked, uncharacteristically flustered. “She’s probably on her way upstairs to pack and hightail it off this mountain!”

“
We
aren’t going to do anything,” Marcus said, then reached forward and thumped Porter on the chest. “Fix this, or I might be tempted to break your other leg.”

Porter winced and rubbed his sore pectoral muscle. He had no doubt Marcus would do it.

“If Dr. Salinger leaves Sweetness,” Kendall added, pacing the floor with agitation, “the rest of the women will probably leave, too. They won’t want to live where they can’t get medical care.” He jammed his hand into his hair. “If word gets out how primitive the conditions are on this mountain, we might never get another woman to set foot in Sweetness.”

It shook Porter to see his middle brother so rattled. Sure, the town would grow more quickly with women, and Kendall had been the one who decided to place the ad in Broadway, Michigan, but…he was acting as if he had an
emotional
stake in these women staying—

“Porter!” Marcus shouted. “Are you hearing us? You were the one so gung-ho about bringing a bunch of females here. We spent a damn fortune building this boardinghouse and fixing the water tower for them. Now they’re here and you’ve managed to maul
and
insult the only doctor on her first day!”

“You do need to make this right,” Kendall admonished.

“Oh, no, don’t put this all on me,” Porter said, then an idea occurred to him. “Unless…you want to sweeten the pot a little.”

Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If I can convince the doctor to stay…the homestead gets deeded to me.” The Armstrong homestead, where once stood the house they’d grown up in.

“That piece of property belongs to all of us,” Marcus said.

“But Porter keeps it cleaned off,” Kendall countered. “And face it, Marcus, if we can’t get this town off the ground, owning a piece of isolated property on Clover Ridge is going to be a moot point.”

Marcus lifted his hands. “Okay. If you can get the doctor to agree to sign a two-year employment contract, you can have the homestead property, little brother.”

Porter grinned. “You got yourself a deal.”

A rap on the door made them all turn. “Doc” Riley Bates stood there, his soiled work hat in his hand, his grizzled face apprehensive. The man was the oldest worker they had, and even though he pulled his weight, the brothers always tried to find light duty projects for him. Since he had no family, Porter suspected Riley hung around more for company than because he needed or wanted the work. Porter had a soft spot for the man, who got along well with the workers and gave them teas and compresses for sore throats and black eyes.

“Hey, Riley,” Kendall said. “What can we do for you?”

The man gestured toward Porter. “I heard about the accident. I brung something that might help.” He held up a small jar.

Marcus grunted. “Thanks, Riley, but we’re good—”

“What is it?” Porter cut in, waving the man forward.

“Wintergreen oil,” the man said, offering a toothy grin as he handed Porter the grubby jar. “It’s good for pain and for swelling.”

The man took an “earthy” approach to bathing, too—his body odor was breathtaking. Porter held his breath. “Thank you kindly, Riley. I’ll try it.”

“Good,” the man said, then planted his feet and looked at Porter expectantly. “Go ahead.”

“He’ll try it later,” Marcus said.

Riley looked wounded. “It works better the quicker you rub it in.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Porter said, knowing the man wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise. Besides, what could it hurt? He opened the jar and gave it a sniff. The strong minty scent burned the hair in his nose and made his eyes water. He dipped his fingers into the oil and dabbed it on the skin around the top and bottom of his cast. Then he looked at Riley. “Feels better already.”

Riley grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Guess I better get back to work. You let me know, Porter, when you run out.”

“Will do,” Porter promised.

The old man backed out of the room. When the door closed, Marcus exhaled and waved his hand in front of his face. “I don’t know what smells worse—the man, or his concoctions.” He frowned at Porter. “You shouldn’t humor him.”

“He’s harmless,” Porter said with a wave.

“Okay,” Kendall said. “But he’s your problem if he starts making trouble for the new doctor.”

“I got it covered—the doctor, too. Consider that employment contract signed.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Marcus said. “This woman seems immune to those boyish charms of yours.”

Porter grinned. “I’ll grow on her.”

Kendall frowned. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Marcus pointed to Porter’s cast. “He means
more
stupid.”

As his brothers walked out, a couple of cute girls walked by and gave Porter coy waves before moving on.

Porter smiled. His broken leg gave him the excuse to visit the doctor, which would put him in proximity to all the other single women. And once he convinced the little lady doc to stay, he’d get the family land.

Who was the stupid one?

7

N
ikki maintained her composure on the trek back to her room by concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. But Porter Armstrong’s stinging remark reverberated in her head, resurrecting old insecurities and self-doubt her ex-fiancé’s betrayal had reinforced.

It hurt to be rejected, darn it.

The women were settling into the rambling boardinghouse. Smiling faces passed by and happy feet skipped up and down the stairs. Chatter filled every corner, billowed by bursts of laughter and squeals of delight. But the merriment grated on Nikki’s raw nerves—everyone seemed so happy to be here…and she’d never felt more alone.

“Dr. Salinger,” called a shrill voice behind her. “Dr. Salinger!”

Rachel Hutchins. Nikki turned and forced a smile up at the towering blonde. “Yes?”

Rachel was holding her pug, Nigel. The wrinkly dark-faced pooch looked uncomfortable, as if he were being squeezed. “How is Porter?” the woman asked, her doe eyes welling with concern.

Nikki pursed her mouth. “He’ll live. It’s only a broken leg.”

“Will he be bedridden?” Rachel looked hopeful.

“Not unless he wants to be,” Nikki chirped. “When I left him, he was getting around pretty well on crutches.” Nikki turned to go, but Rachel refused to be mollified.

“Is he in a lot of pain?”

She turned back, her ire flaring. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“Oh, I will,” Rachel promised in a singsongy voice. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Exasperated, Nikki lifted her hands. “I didn’t notice.”

Rachel tilted her head. “Really? Gosh, Dr. Salinger, your boyfriend back in Broadway did a horrible, lowdown thing to toss you aside for a stripper, but you shouldn’t let it sour you on men altogether.”

Nikki bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Fiancé.”

“Pardon me?”

“He was my fiancé,” Nikki said evenly.

“Ouch—even worse.”

Nikki closed her eyes, but when she opened them, the woman and dog were still there. “I’m tired, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to my room.” She turned and started climbing the stairs. Her feet felt like bricks.

“The men are having a barbecue to welcome us to Sweetness,” Rachel said behind her.

“I think I’ll pass,” Nikki replied over her shoulder.

“Do you suppose Porter will need my help getting there?”

Nikki rolled her eyes, but didn’t turn back. “Sounds like a plan.” At the top of the stairs, she veered toward her room at the end of the hall.

“Dr. Salinger?”

Nikki sighed, then turned back and leaned on the railing. “Yes, Rachel?”

“Do you like it here?”

Surprisingly, the woman seemed pensive, as if Nikki’s response actually mattered. The dog yelped, and Rachel loosened her grip.

“I…don’t know yet.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Nikki turned back toward her room and pressed her lips together. It looked as if Rachel and Porter Armstrong would be the first couple to pair off. Granted, they did seem suited to each other in terms of physical beauty…and tact.

She wished them well.

As Nikki passed other rooms, she was appalled to find most of the doors standing open. Inside, women were sprawled on the beds and floors, painting toenails and doing each other’s hair. Had everyone regressed to college dorm behavior?

“Hey, Dr. Salinger,” called Traci Miles, one of the women who’d ridden down in the van with Nikki. She was smearing something gooey on a seated woman’s eyebrow. “Want me to wax your brows?” Traci pressed a white strip of cloth to the goo, then ripped it off. The woman in the chair grimaced in pain.

“Um…no, thanks,” Nikki said. All the way down the hall came offers for hair highlighting, makeup air-brushing and manicures. She declined as graciously as she could, considering how alien all that girly stuff was to her. She self-consciously touched her never-plucked eyebrows and bare face and curled under her stubby fingernails. She was the only woman in the building with a medical degree…so why did she feel lacking?

By the time Nikki closed the door to her own room and leaned against it, she had made a decision.

She was leaving Sweetness.

She’d wait until everyone had left for the barbecue, then make her escape to avoid any drama. She’d leave a note for the Armstrong brothers, and by the time anyone noticed she was gone—probably tomorrow sometime—she’d be back in Broadway. She wondered if she could get her old job back at the family medical practice…and if the apartment she’d rented after moving out of Darren’s house was still available.

Since she was only a few hours from Atlanta, Nikki toyed with the idea of driving there to take her chances in the sprawling metropolis. But she still had some friends in Broadway, like Amy Bradshaw, a yoga partner and Southern girl whom Nikki had hoped would come with them to Sweetness. Amy hadn’t even considered leaving her civil engineering job to relocate, but had asked Nikki to stay in touch.

On impulse, Nikki went to her purse and rummaged for her cell phone to call Amy—maybe she would have some words of advice, something wise and…
Southern
that would help Nikki see things from a different perspective.

But at the “No Service” message on her phone screen, Nikki dropped her head and released a strangled cry of frustration. The fact that she couldn’t reach anyone in the outside world was a sure sign she needed to leave this no-cow town, pronto.

Thank goodness she hadn’t fully unpacked yet, she thought as she moved to the one open suitcase on her bed. She refolded the clothes she’d worn earlier and placed them on top, then began to gather the toiletries she’d used. Her movements were furtive, which was ridiculous, she realized. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything wrong. In fact, she was correcting a mistake. Coming here made her realize how good she’d had it in Broadway. And if she went back, no one could say Darren Rocha’s public disposal of her had humiliated her so much she’d had to leave.

Even though it was true.

She was so deep in thought, a knock startled her. With her heart thumping, Nikki made her way to the door and, in deference to her nearly repacked suitcase on the bed, opened it only a crack. She didn’t want to tip off any of the women that she was leaving.

Only it wasn’t a woman on the other side.

“Hi,” Porter Armstrong said with a pained smile. His cobalt-blue eyes were a little hazy, and he was leaning heavily on his crutches. He had, she noticed, found a shirt—a pale blue T-shirt that stretched agreeably across his biceps and shoulders.

Nikki’s pulse picked up. “Is something wrong, Mr. Armstrong?”

“Nope. I came to talk to you. Can I—er,
may
I come in?”