“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t push. Petal had worked for his father before he’d been too far gone, and she knew better than most what the Jackson males dealt with. “I’ve put the new patient file on your desk. Miss Bennington is a lovely girl. I met her yesterday when she dropped off her paperwork.”
He poured himself a coffee, keeping his expression neutral. “Is that so?”
“Pregnant and all alone, poor thing. And moving to Fairhaven Falls of all places.” Petal clicked her tongue. “Still, better here than the city, I suppose. At least here she’ll have people looking out for her.”
Hyde’s growl was so loud he nearly dropped his mug.Mine to protect.He gripped the counter, forcing the surge of possessive rage back down.
“Dr. Jackson?”
He blinked. Petal was watching him, concern creasing her forehead.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He set the mug down carefully. “Just thinking about the day.”
She didn’t look convinced, but then the front door chimed, signaling Mrs. Clarkson’s early arrival. Petal sighed and bustled out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with his coffee and the slow, inexorable dread building in his chest.
Mrs. Clarkson’s blood pressure was elevated, but nothing concerning. Gerald Hoffmann’s medication was working beautifully, his mood improved, his energy levels up. The ten o’clock gap gave him time to update his notes, review the prenatal care protocols he hadn’t needed in months, and try very hard not to look at the clock.
At ten-fifty, Petal knocked on his office door.
“Dr. Jackson? Your eleven o’clock will be here any moment. I’m just going to tidy the exam room.”
“Thank you.”
She disappeared, and he forced himself to breathe. Just another patient. He pulled Miss Bennington’s file across the desk and read through it again, even though he’d already committed the details to memory. Her previous doctors hadn’t noted any significant risk factors. Her blood type was O-positive and she had no known allergies. Her due date was in late January.
Reviewing the routine information didn’t help calm his uneasiness, and he finally stood and strode to the window. A small figure was walking up the street, bundled in a plaid coat that didn’t quite close over the swell of her stomach. Dark brown hair was pulled back from her face with a colorful scarf, and his breath caught in his throat.
She was lovely. Not in a polished, artificial manner, but something softer and more genuine. Tiny freckles dusted her nose, and her eyes were a warm brown. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink from either the cool air or the walk. There was an air of vulnerability about her, but also a quiet resilience that intrigued him.
Hyde surged forward, and he had to grip the windowsill to keep himself steady. His eyes flashed green—he could feel it, the shift in his vision, the sharpening of his senses. As she walked up the front steps, her scent reached him, warm and sweet and infinitely compelling.
Mate.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth.
But Hyde didn’t care. Hyde knew. And the knowledge was absolute, undeniable, terrifying.
She was his.
CHAPTER 3
Chloe had left the River Café with a pleasantly full stomach and fifteen minutes to spare. Since the doctor’s office was only one street over, she decided to walk, admiring the variety of shops along Main Street—everything from a bookshop with diamond-paned windows to a corner shop advertising fresh produce and homemade pies. Colorful hanging baskets adorned the lamp posts lining the street, each one of them unique. After a longing look at the coffee shop and bakery occupying one of the two story brick buildings, she crossed over to the next street.
The clinic was located in an imposing Victorian house with a brass plaque beside the door that readDr. V. Jackson, MD. The door opened into a wide entrance hall with high ceilings and elaborate woodwork that smelled of lavender and an intriguing spicy scent she couldn’t quite identify. Watercolors of the surrounding mountains hung on the walls, and a fireplace crackled cheerfully in the parlor to the left. The chairs in the parlor were empty, as was the reception desk.
“Hello?” she called.
A crash came from somewhere in the back, followed by a string of colorful cursing in a language she didn’t recognize.
“Just a moment!”
A few seconds later, the doctor’s receptionist emerged from the back of the house, carrying a stack of files that threatened to topple at any moment. An older woman with a pleasant face, she had brown skin and orange petals woven into her neat dark bun. Despite the old-fashioned cardigan buttoned across an ample bosom, she was clearly not human. A brownie, if she recalled correctly.
“Sorry, sorry! A bit of reorganization happening.” Petal placed the files neatly on the desk and beamed at her. “Hello again, Miss Bennington. You’re right on time.”
“Call me Chloe, please.”
