The Doctor's Perfect Match

He smiled. “Now and then.”

Shaking her head, she stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that. Anyway, I hated to call you, but Kate worries so much about Maddie that I get paranoid over even the slightest sniffle when I’m babysitting the girls.”

After his numerous visits to Kate’s small cottage, which was tucked between Edith’s house and The Devon Rose, Christopher was well aware of the charter-fishing captain’s worries about her daughter. “It’s better to err on the side of caution with asthma. I’m glad it was a false alarm.” Shifting his black medical bag from one hand to the other, he checked his watch. “I’d better be off if I want to get to the E.R. on time.”

To his surprise, Edith didn’t budge. “I hate to delay you any further, but I’m a little concerned about Heather’s new sister-in-law.”

“Heather Anderson? From The Devon Rose?” He saw the tearoom owner regularly at church, though they weren’t well acquainted.

“Yes.”

“She got married this weekend, didn’t she?”

“Yes. A small, intimate wedding. Very romantic.”

“What’s the problem with her sister-in-law?”

“I hope nothing. She’s supposed to manage the tearoom while Heather and J.C. are in Europe on their honeymoon, but yesterday she seemed to be getting sick. If she’s still feeling under the weather, would you mind popping in before you head to the hospital? I could rustle up a loaf of pumpkin bread for you to sweeten the deal.”

Christopher grinned. “Sold.”

Her eyes twinkling, Edith waved him to a chair. “Give me one minute while I ring her.”

The minute stretched to five, and when Edith returned with a plastic-wrapped loaf of pumpkin bread in hand, her face was etched with concern.

“She sounds terrible. But she said asking you to stop by is too much of an imposition and not to bother.”

“As you pointed out, I’m here anyway. It’s no bother.” Christopher picked up his bag from the chair in Edith’s foyer.

“I couldn’t convince her of that. But between you and me, I suspect her reluctance is more related to finances than inconvenience. According to J.C., she’s been pinching pennies to put herself through school. Plus, she may not have much, if any, insurance.”

“I’m running a special today. Buy one house call, get one free.” He winked at Edith. “At least that will be my story when I show up at her door. What’s her name?”

“Marci Clay.” Edith twisted the knob and stepped aside to allow him to pass. “She’s a very nice person. Pretty, too. I’m surprised she’s not married.”

An odd nuance in Edith’s inflection put Christopher on alert, but when he paused on the porch and turned, her expression was guileless. Must have been his imagination.

“Call me if you have any more concerns about Maddie.”

“I’ll do that. But at the moment, I’m more worried about Marci.”

“I’ll check her out.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Edith’s mouth as she handed him the pumpkin bread. “Sounds like a plan. Enjoy the treat.”

She closed the door with a soft click—but not before he caught a suspicious gleam in her eyes. And that was not his imagination.

But it didn’t matter.

Because no matter how nice or how pretty Marci Clay was, he wasn’t interested.

Maybe someday he’d test the waters of romance again. Maybe. But during his two years living on Nantucket, he’d steered clear of all eligible women. And he didn’t intend to change course anytime in the near future.

No matter what Edith might be planning.

As the doorbell chimed for the third time, Marci groaned and rolled over.

Go away!

She wanted to shout out that order, but her throat hurt too much to talk, let alone yell. It felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to it. Besides, whoever was at the door probably wouldn’t hear her from her second-floor bedroom even if she could holler at full volume.

She’d fallen back asleep immediately after Edith’s phone call, so she had no clue how much time had elapsed. But based on the angle of the sun slanting through the sheer curtains, it was still early.

Too early for visitors.

Except this one didn’t seem to realize that, she concluded wearily as the bell chimed again. Nor did her persistent caller appear to have any intention of going away.

With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs to the floor and snagged the ratty velour bathrobe that had wrapped her in its fleecy warmth and comforted her through many a cold, lonely Chicago evening. Shrugging into it, she shuffled down the hall on unsteady legs and took the stairs one at a time, clinging to the banister.

Whoever had parked a finger against the doorbell was going to get an earful, she resolved, gritting her teeth.

Flipping the deadbolt, she tugged on the door and opened her mouth, prepared to give her visitor a piece of her mind.

But the words died in her throat as she came face-to-face with a tall, thirtyish man holding a black bag.

It was the preppy guy from the restaurant. The one who’d given her the blatant perusal.

She shut her mouth and stared.

He stared back.

When the silence lengthened, he cleared his throat. “Marci Clay?”

She gave a tiny nod.

“I’m Christopher Morgan. Edith called about me stopping by to…uh…check you out.” His face grew ruddy, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “She said you weren’t feeling well.”

The guy who’d ogled her legs was the doctor Edith had offered to send over? A shiver rippled through Marci, and she edged back.

“I’m okay.” She tightened her grip on the door and started to ease it closed. No way did she want this jerk anywhere near her.

“You don’t look okay.”

Given how she felt, she figured that was the understatement of the century.