Baby, Drive South

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

Nikki 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.”