Melting the M.D.

Dr. Scott Creighton was as devastatingly attractive as he’d always been, but there was a somberness in his eyes and face now, just as Lucy had described. When they’d first met three and a half years ago, Scott had been a playful hospital intern.

Though he’d been all serious intensity the night he’d told her point-blank that he planned to marry her. And she’d run the next morning.

Chapter Two (#ulink_20405d7c-be68-5571-ad74-6a96e7193642)

“You two know each other?” Lucy asked.

“Y-yes.” Meg bit her lip to keep from saying more. This weekend was critical to her future, and she needed to regain control of herself before she blurted something grossly unprofessional. “Or, we did. A few years ago.”

Scott leaned against the doorjamb, his hazel eyes unreadable. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

He certainly had. His burnished gold hair, just a couple of shades darker than hers, was cut a lot closer than it had been while they’d dated. And before, he’d always had a glint in his eye, a smile nearly boyish in its charm. Now he exuded raw masculinity.

“Meg has agreed to help with your tux.” Lucy scooped up her purse. “She’ll drive you to the fitting.”

For a fraction of a second, Scott’s eyes widened, but his voice remained even. “I don’t want to impose. I can take a cab.”

The women joined the men in the hallway as Grant reminded his cousin, “You’re not in the city. Taxis aren’t exactly lined up outside the B and B.”

Meg found her voice. “The rental place is on my way—I have to run into town to see the florist.” The reminder of her duties as wedding coordinator steadied her. She sounded competent again when she told Lucy, “You and Grant enjoy the spa. And I’ll come up with something to occupy your mother later to keep her away from you. As for your orange maid of honor, text her a reminder to exfoliate and I’ll see if Mrs. Hoffman can whip up some kind of lemon-juice solution.”

The bride-to-be exhaled. “I can’t imagine my wedding day without you, Meg.”

“Funny.” Scott lowered his voice as the happy couple descended the stairs toward the coatrack. “There was a time when I would’ve said the same thing.”

Scott sat rigidly in the passenger seat, reminding himself that he was a doctor. He had mastered clinical detachment. No way in hell would he give in to the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him.

Meg cleared her throat. “About what you said on the staircase—”

“Forget it. That was just the surprise talking.”

When Grant had said they were meeting Lucy “and Meg,” Scott hadn’t thought anything of it. Meg was a common enough name…and could there be a less likely wedding coordinator than Meg Nichols? The way he remembered it, the mere mention of marriage had sent her fleeing to the nearest exit. Or maybe it was just the idea of marriage to him.

They’d met at an upscale bakery around the corner from the hospital. Meg had worked there as a pastry chef. When she’d dumped Scott—in a letter, for crying out loud—she’d almost cured his lifelong sweet tooth. To this day, he couldn’t breathe in the scent of chocolate without missing her. Which annoyed the hell out of him.

“So, uh, when did you get into town?” Meg asked, filling the strained silence.

“Drove my parents in last night. I let them borrow my car today to tour a historical museum on the other side of the county.” Otherwise, he’d have his own mode of transportation right now and wouldn’t be dependent on the only woman who’d ever broken his heart.

You’re over it, he reminded himself. Clinical detachment. That’s the ticket. He was determined not to let himself pine for someone who’d walked away without a backward glance.

Chapter Three (#ulink_9aca705c-bdc6-5dc3-a5f9-e07d161e1995)

Meg parked in front of the shopping center where the tuxedo rental place was located. After their tense car ride, she’d never been happier to reach a destination, including the time her parents had decided on a spur-of-the-moment fourteen-hour road trip to the Grand Canyon.

But she smiled at him and said, “This is it. Let’s get you all James Bonded.”

Scott unfastened his seat belt. “So you’re in the business of cummerbunds and seating arrangements now? I ran into your old neighbor Richie Carlisle a few months ago. He seemed to think you were training to be a police officer.”

“Private investigator.” Had Richie volunteered the update, or had Scott specifically asked about her? “I only took a couple of classes out of curiosity.” Prior to that, there’d been a brief stint as a salsa instructor. She’d lost that job when she’d socked a groping client in the shoulder.

Her lack of a career up to this point wasn’t surprising. The Nichols sisters had been raised to “follow their bliss.” Brooke, the younger sibling, was in her own way the family rebel. She’d always been cautiously conservative—perhaps too cautious. But who was Meg to criticize? She’d reached her mid-thirties with nothing to show for her life but a patchwork quilt of short-lived jobs and relationships. Her sister, on the other hand, was now happily married and the mother of a beautiful baby.

Meg had never expected her sister to ask her to be her niece’s godmother. “Please say you will, Meg. If anything were to happen to Jake and me… ““

Meg, potentially responsible for a baby? It had caused her to take a long, hard look at herself and make some changes.

Scott opened the door to the mall’s main entrance. As she passed him, she tried not to notice the heat from his body or the familiar smell of his soap.

She took a steadying breath. “You said you ran into Richie. Does that mean you’re still in Houston?”

“More or less. I work in a pediatric practice in one of the communities outside the city.”

“Exactly as you planned,” she said, glad for his success.

“Not ‘exactly.’” His voice was gruff.“ I’d pictured my life a little differently.”

Did he mean her and the future he’d wanted them to have? Meg’s chest tightened. They’d hit it off immediately, and their resulting affair had burned hot and quick. But their goals had ultimately been too different—or they would have been, if she’d had any clear goals.

Well, she did now. At the top of that list was making this weekend magical for Lucy while at the same time proving herself to be a competent wedding planner to the Houston socialites in attendance. Which meant she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by Scott.

Meg reminded herself that Lucy had chosen her for good reason. Lucy came from a very wealthy family and had feared that if she had the wedding at home, her mom would have turned it into a three-ring circus of VIPs. Lucy had wanted a more intimate affair in the Hill Country, where Grant had proposed during their vacation last year. They were getting married on the first Saturday of February so that they would be in Paris—and past their jet lag—by Valentine’s Day. Très romantic.

Meg turned the corner with a sigh.

“Everything all right?” Scott asked.

“I just think Lucy and Grant are very lucky. I—” She broke off when the phone in her pants pocket began buzzing. “Better grab this. It’s from the church. Meg Nichols speaking.”

She frowned as the man on the other end launched into a string of apologies and garbled explanation. She was so startled by the news that it took her brain a moment to translate what she was hearing. “Wait! What do you mean they can’t have the wedding at the church?”

Chapter Four (#ulink_34074ff2-2a32-50ec-acec-262adb6db206)

Scott watched in alarm as Meg went sheet-white. He hadn’t seen a woman look so close to fainting since his E.R. days when a young mother had brought in a five-year-old with a head wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Holding Meg’s elbow, he steered her toward a nearby bench. She’d disconnected the phone call, her expression stricken.

“I’m going out on a limb here—that wasn’t good news?” He tried for a joking tone, but it sounded flat. He remembered laughing all the time with Meg. She’d always been able to find the amusing and absurd in any situation, a welcome change from his occasionally grim shifts at the hospital. Now, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d really laughed. When had joking around with other people started to feel forced and unnatural? With kids, he could still tap into just enough silliness to calm their fears, but that was more bedside manner than an indication of who he really was.

“The church cancelled,” Meg said woodenly. “I can’t believe this! The weather finally warmed up a couple of degrees and now the pipes burst?”

“Sometimes the worst damage comes when frozen pipes start to thaw,” he told her. “Places around here, where freezes are rare, aren’t as prepared as facilities up north.”

She blinked. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive about the damage to the church and the cleanup they’re facing, but Lucy’s wedding is the day after tomorrow! What am I going to do? She’s already a nervous wreck. How am I supposed to tell her this on top of everything else?”

Scott sat next to her. In another lifetime, he would have put his arm around her, pulled her into a comforting embrace. The temptation was there, but…getting that close to Meg, letting her past the wall of cool reserve that protected him? It would be like those frozen pipes that had started to thaw and then crack: disaster. She’d hurt him once. Only a fool would risk becoming emotionally vulnerable to her again.

“You’re really taking this hard,” he observed, at a loss for what to say.