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“I’m sure. Are you all right? I think I got you good and hard.” She closed her eyes briefly and pursed her lips together, praying for the ground to swallow her up as she realized what she’d just said.
His eyes held hers, heat sparking in them. “You sure did, but I’ll survive.”
“I’m just gonna stand here and let you two leave without my hindrance. Have a nice evening.” She stood back, fiddling with the stethoscope.
“Bye, Christie.” He turned his attention to his son. “C’mon, dude. Let’s go home and get some ice on that bump.”
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Of course you have to go to school tomorrow. You heard Dr. Harmon. You’re fine.”
“You should’ve asked her out.”
As they walked away, Luke pulled Ethan into him, hugging him to his side as they walked. “No more playing on ice, okay buddy?”
She found herself smiling as she watched them make their way to the exit doors, a warm, melting sensation filling up her insides at the sight of them together. Quickly, she caught herself, giving her head a shake and jamming her pen back in the front pocket of her lab coat.
She exhaled slowly and tried not to laugh at herself for thinking she could ever be good enough for a man like that. Kind and warm and . . . God, he was gorgeous. And watching him with his son? All funny and tender and worried? Holy hell. She’d have to go for an ultrasound just to make sure her ovaries were still intact.
She gave her head another shake. She’d taken this job in Cheyenne to start over after what had happened in Tulsa. A wave of nausea rolled through her along with the memories of the humiliation she’d had to endure, how she’d had no choice but to run, leaving behind friends and a job she’d loved. All because of a stupid, impulsive act. A decision with consequences that she’d foolishly thought she could outrun.
But she’d been wrong. Because even now, in a new city, in a new job, she felt the weight of what she’d done pressing on her shoulders. A small voice whispered, “They’re not for you,” and she swallowed thickly. Adjusting her stethoscope, she pushed them from her mind as she went to find her next patient.
Chapter 2
December 3
Christie pulled her SUV into a spot in the Home Depot parking lot, navigating around the fresh mounds of snow that had been cleared into the corners of the lot. A couple of inches had fallen last night, and suddenly the wreaths, lights, and Christmas trees that had been everywhere since before Thanksgiving didn’t look so out of place. Locking the SUV with a beep, she dug her phone out of her purse, cold fingers scrolling across the screen as she pulled up her shopping list. After last night’s snow, she’d realized that she needed a shovel. Clearing her driveway with a broom hadn’t worked out so well and had earned her more than one puzzled glance from her neighbors.
She’d been in Cheyenne for nearly three weeks now, and she was starting to wonder if taking this job had been a mistake. Those last few weeks, simply getting out of Tulsa had fueled every decision, and when the posting for a pediatric resident at the Cheyenne Regional Medical Center had come up, she’d sent in her resume that day. After a Skype interview and a review of her glowing recommendations, they’d flown her out for an interview with the hospital board. When they’d offered her the job, she’d accepted on the spot, beyond grateful that they hadn’t found out about her mess of a personal life. After tying up a few loose ends in Tulsa, she’d returned to Cheyenne and the adorable red brick bungalow she’d rented. The pictures had looked warm and cozy, and she’d put down a deposit right away.
Now, here she was, alone, cold, and trying to move snow with a damn broom. Not to mention dealing with an absentee landlord who had failed to mention that the bungalow was a bit more rustic than advertised. Okay, fine. A lot more rustic. It had charm, sure, but in a worn-out, shabby-chic kind of way, and needed a lot of small repairs.
Maybe it wouldn’t feel so shabby with some Christmas decorations.
Right. Because spending Christmas on call watching Love Actually alone in the dark and eating disgusting amounts of chocolate in her pajamas was really an occasion that called for gussying up the house. She couldn’t go home because of work, and she wouldn’t drag her parents out here to spend a sad, lonely Christmas with her while she waited for her pager to go off.
She’d tried to spare them the details of what had happened, of why she’d had to leave Tulsa, but it had been too hard. They’d always been close, and she’d hated keeping such a big thing a secret from them. Her parents had handled it well, as had most of her friends. But there’d been a few who’d turned cold and judgmental, and while Christie knew that their behavior indicated that they’d never really been her friends in the first place, some of their words had cut deep, making a home somewhere in the dark recesses of her brain.
Words like “whore,” and “slut,” and “ashamed,” and “damaged goods.”
The sliding glass doors parted for her, and she was hit with a blast of warm air and the strains of Christmas music echoing through the store’s speakers. Her eyes landed on a display of artificial Christmas trees of varying heights, all twinkling with warm, cheery lights, and she found herself smiling despite her low mood. An inflatable Santa stood sentry beside the trees, flanked by three-foot tall candy canes, a wire-and-mesh sleigh parked nearby. Rudolph stood proudly at the head of the sleigh, his red nose blinking happily. A young couple, cheeks flushed, poked around the trees, playfully arguing over which one was the best. As the man kissed the tip of the woman’s nose, something clenched deep in Christie’s chest, nearly stealing her breath.
Dammit. She’d come to Cheyenne to forget, to move on, forward, upward, whatever direction it was that caused her the least amount of pain. Running from the kind of humiliation no woman should ever have to endure.
Refusing to wallow in shame and self-pity, she squared her shoulders and grabbed a cart, eyes glued to her list. Just past the Christmas trees, another display caught her attention, and she pointed her cart in the direction of the shovels.
Half an hour later, as she hummed along to “The Little Drummer Boy,” her cart was nearly full to bursting with a shovel, batteries, a step stool, a dust buster, light bulbs, a welcome mat (more for wiping snowy boots than because she was expecting any visitors), a furnace filter, and a garbage can. Almost finished, she turned down the hardware aisle and paused in front of the rows of door-related hardware: strike plates, knobs, and hinges, all gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. Nearly every door in her cute little bungalow had something wrong with it. Some didn’t close quite right, and others were in need of either new hinges or strike plates. A couple were missing doorknobs altogether. She’d phoned her landlord to complain, but as usual, had only gotten his voice mail.
She frowned and picked up a hinge, scrutinizing it. It looked . . . similar to the rusted-out one that was barely keeping her bathroom door attached. She picked up another, comparing them. It also looked . . . similar. Maybe.
Shit. She’d need a drill to do any of these repairs, assuming she’d managed to find the right frigging hinge. She didn’t really know how to use a drill, and had no idea what to buy. Dejectedly, she tossed the hinge back onto the shelf and huffed out a breath.
“Christie?”
She spun at the low, male voice. Luke stood a few feet away, wearing a dark blue long-sleeved Henley, worn jeans and work boots, a tool belt slung around his lean hips. He clutched a small, circular saw in his large hands. He was like a blue-collar fantasy come to life. Dear Lord, he was gorgeous.
Don’t be a dork. Don’t be a dork. Don’t be a dork.
