Small-Town Bachelor

“They repackaged it.” She held it up. “The bleach solution looks like this now.”

Tammy stared, her jaw tightening. “Let me see it.” She waved two fingers for Claire to hand it to her. After reading the label, Tammy thrust it back in Claire’s hand. “Fine. But wipe it down twice. It looks like you missed a spot over there.”

Claire strangled the paper towel in her hand until her boss exited. She couldn’t do this much longer. She never minded cleaning up after patients, but when her every move was judged and criticized, it killed her morale.

Tammy hadn’t even asked about her black eye or scratches. There had been a time Tammy would be the first to show concern. She probably would have urged Claire to take the day off. But those days had disappeared long ago when Tammy started seeing Mark Calloway, aka Dr. Jerk Face.

So Claire had worked for Mark before Tammy. Was it really that big a deal that Claire dated him briefly? Apparently. But Claire had dumped him, not the other way around, and Mark had promptly spread rumors about her around town. No doubt, Mark filled Tammy’s head with the same lies. An ex ruining another good thing in her life—a friendship she’d cherished. A job she liked. It still hurt.

Not that Tammy was worth it if she believed everything he said.

Claire sprayed and wiped the examination table. Getting Reed settled next door this morning had taken her mind off the job opening at the zoo. Last night, after she, Dad and her brothers cleaned up the yard for the otters, Claire had finished her online application. The only red flag? The omission of recent job references. Mark certainly wouldn’t give her one. And Claire didn’t want Tammy to know she was actively job hunting. Hopefully, her volunteer work at the zoo and the letter from her friend, Lisa Jones, who owned the animal sanctuary where Claire gave free checkups to injured birds and animals, would be enough.

Submitting the application had been exhilarating, but now the giddiness melted into anxiety. Were her qualifications enough? Had she answered the questions correctly?

One of the zookeepers had texted her at lunch. Did you put your app in yet? I heard Tina say she has 30 in already.

Claire continued wiping the surfaces. Thirty applications. And the job had been posted on Friday. Steep competition.

Working quickly and methodically, she finished cleaning the room. She put the supplies away and found her purse, and she and the receptionist left together. A blast of moist heat hit her as she made her way to her bike. A breeze to keep her scrubs from clinging to her skin couldn’t be too much to ask for, could it?

She pedaled down the side street to a back road—her favorite route home. Varying shades of green leaves dotted the woods on either side, and a pair of mourning doves swooped ahead of her. Her legs tightened, burned, but she forced them to keep pumping up the hill. The exertion burned off some of her earlier resentment.

After she’d changed into shorts and fed the otters, Claire stood outside Granddad’s cottage. Aunt Sally had texted her earlier to say she had plans tonight but that she’d left stir-fry ingredients in Reed’s fridge.

Preparing dinner for Reed didn’t sound like a good time. For one, she was a lousy cook. Two, making food seemed intimate, and after this morning when her treacherous body betrayed her—she’d practically gotten shivers putting her phone number in Reed’s cell—she’d promised herself to be nurselike. Detached.

One-on-one interactions with a devastatingly gorgeous guy? One on his way back to Chicago soon? Not smart.

She knocked and strolled inside. From across the room, she noted Reed’s paleness. Reclining on the sofa, eyes closed with his cast up on her yoga blocks—Aunt Sally had hit a home run again—Reed’s slack face looked haggard while he slept. Poor guy.

As quietly as possible, she padded to him and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. No fever. But his shallow breathing indicated his discomfort even in sleep.

She retreated to the kitchen and cut up the vegetables. Started the rice. Heated oil in the pan and added chicken breast chunks. When they began to sizzle, she seasoned and stirred them. A moan from the couch spun her attention to the living room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Claire set the spatula on the counter and went to Reed. “What can I get you? Do you need help with anything?”

He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, leaving it more rumpled than before. More tempting. “The chair. Help me into the wheelchair.”

She kneeled, setting his arm around her shoulder as he swung his legs to the side. He hissed.

“I’m sorry.” She touched his hard, muscular biceps. Big mistake. Warmth pooled in her stomach. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth.

It took a few minutes and more exertion than she anticipated, but they succeeded in getting him into the chair. He slowly wheeled down the hall.

“Do you need me to help you?” she called after him.

“No. Got it.”

An acrid smell came from the kitchen. She jogged to the stove. The chicken had taken on a dark brown hue, but the chunks weren’t officially burned...just well done. Very well done. Stirring the rice, she realized she’d forgotten to cover the pan or put it on low, so a crispy layer coated the bottom.

She broke up the chunks, added a bit more water and hoped it would be edible.

Several minutes later she spooned rice and the chicken-and-vegetable mixture onto a plate, then shimmied past the counter to see what was keeping Reed.

“Are you okay?” She stretched her neck to see down the hall. Empty.

“Fine.”

“Need me to help?”

“No.” His voice sounded strained.

Should she stay? Help him? Or set the food on the table and leave?

“Your dinner is on the table,” she called.

“Okay.”

“Want me to stay?”

A clamor came from the hall. Reed wheeled back to her, the paleness in his face replaced by brick red. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitated. He didn’t look fine. But she didn’t want to intrude. And as much as her nursing instincts prodded her to monitor him, her feminine instincts hollered to get back home. Stat.

“I’ll eat with you and get you settled.” She pulled another plate out of the cupboard. Reed moved to the end of the table where she’d set his food.

Joining him, she bowed her head, said grace and motioned to his fork. “Go ahead.” She bit down on a too-crunchy piece of broccoli. The flavors in her mouth created an odd mixture of char, salt and teriyaki sauce. She almost spit it out. “This is disgusting. I’m making you a sandwich.”

He’d paled again. But he hadn’t touched his food, so dinner wasn’t to blame.

“Maybe you should lie down.” She bit her lower lip.

Nodding, he pushed himself back to the couch. She helped him get settled. He winced as she set his cast back onto the yoga blocks. “I’ll let you rest.”

“No, wait.” His hand darted out and clasped her wrist, sending awareness up her spine. “Stay.”

How could she refuse an injured man? One with eyes the exact brown of Gretel’s fur? Who’d put his life at risk to protect her? She gulped. One who...needed her?

Her downfall.

There went her good intentions to be nurselike. Detached.

Because being needed was her weakest spot. Always had been. Always would be.

* * *