LITMIR.BIZ

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claimed.

      “I’m sure Michael won’t have any trouble repairing it.” Settling Widow Serafine into her office guest chair, Jillian learned that she was the one in for trouble after asking for a dental insurance card.

      “Dental coverage is one of the perks that comes with the caretaker job, isn’t it?” Widow Serafine asked.

      “Yes, it is.”

      “And when does that coverage kick in?”

      “Ninety days.”

      Widow Serafine placed the broken bridge on the desk and eyed the dislodged teeth with a contemplative expression. “I suppose I can come back then.”

      “You don’t have any dental coverage?”

      “Not since my husband died. God bless his soul. The government doesn’t keep providing for his widow, and those monthly payments were more than my mortgage. Wish I didn’t have to keep paying for a house that’s been blown away, truth be told.” Widow Serafine beamed a smile that revealed her missing molars. “Think you could hang on to the bill for ninety days until the coverage kicks in?”

      Not unless she wanted to perpetrate insurance fraud. Jillian kept that to herself, but for a woman who normally handled her husband’s business efficiently, she found herself back to being speechless again.

      Which gave Widow Serafine the upper hand.

      “Back home old Doc Roup lets my kin work off my bill,” she explained. “My boy Denis is a carpenter. He fixes up whatever Doc needs fixing. My girl Lucie trims his hair—well, what little he has left, anyway. If I just need a filling, Doc’ll settle up for a big pot of my gumbo. Or bouillabaisse when Lucie’s husband goes out fishing. Says I make the best bouillabaisse in the whole parish. And I do, Mrs. Jillian. Do you like bouillabaisse?”

      Jillian wondered what it was about this woman that kept catching her off guard. She ran into her fair share of characters around here. Michael was well-loved in town, which translated into a patient base of diverse demography—from eccentric old-timers like the Baker twins to members of local law-enforcement agencies and philanthropists like Amelia Preston.

      Jillian knew Michael wouldn’t think twice about accepting a pot of whatever the widow might be cooking as repayment for her bridge. But this wasn’t exactly the best of times to be asking him for a freebie connected to Camp Cavelier.

      But as she saw Widow Serafine’s newly imperfect smile reflected in her dark eyes, Jillian didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t suggest the woman make the nearly four-hour drive to visit old Doc Roup. Nor did she feel right about taking the widow up on her suggestion to walk around without her bridge until her dental coverage kicked in.

      No, the only way Jillian could look herself in the mirror meant forcing a smile and saying, “Actually, I think the office staff might enjoy a pot of gumbo for lunch one day.”

      “BITE DOWN,” Michael said.

      Widow Serafine did as he asked, and he inspected the impression, pleased with a job well done.

      “There you go. Good as new.”

      He stripped off sanitary gloves while Charlotte unfastened the paper bib from around Widow Serafine’s neck.

      “You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Michael,” the widow said as he shifted the dental chair into an upright position.

      Michael smiled, appreciating the sentiment even if he hadn’t exactly earned such accolades. The repair job had been simple.

      “Now, you’re sure I didn’t run you too far off your schedule?” Widow Serafine asked. “You got plenty of time to get that crown of yours in your own mouth, right?”

      She pointed to the equipment shelf behind him, and Michael followed her gaze to the bit of porcelain residing there. “Not a problem. In fact, Charlotte will put it in right now just so we don’t forget.”

      “Thanks for telling me.” Charlotte snapped a glove on her hand with ceremony.

      “Then I’ll get home to planning the menu. You sure you don’t want your luncheon until Monday?”

      “Can’t think of a better way to start a week around here,” he said.

      Charlotte nodded. “Now there’s a truth.”

      “Just remember,” he told Widow Serafine as she swung her legs out of the chair and took his hand for a gentlemanly assist. “Go easy on that bridge until dinner. After that you can eat normally.”

      “You betcha, Dr. Michael. Thanks again.”

      “My pleasure.” He smiled as Widow Serafine disappeared down the hallway. Then he took his place in the dental chair.

      Charlotte prepared the cement, and the process of replacing his temporary with a new crown took all of five minutes. He tested the impression and declared his bite satisfactory.

      “You do good work.” He smiled widely, one of the cheesy smiles he coaxed out of his patients to capture on film and grace his office walls.

      “Of course I do,” Charlotte said. “Now get back to work before we wind up working straight through lunch.”

      But Michael hadn’t yet left the exam room to greet his next patient when Jillian showed up. He bit back a casual greeting—her serious expression told him everything he needed to know about her mood.

      Damn it. Was she ever going to let their argument go, or was she planning to hold a grudge forever?

      Or had she expected him to take her threats about their marriage seriously?

      Right.

      He eyed her chilly expression and settled on a noncommittal, “What’s up?”

      “Did you get your crown in?”

      “Good as new.”

      “I just wanted to thank you for squeezing in Widow Serafine this morning.”

      “No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “Should still have time to finish up, eat lunch and take a quick nap.”

      “I’m glad,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty rest.”

      Michael glanced up, but Jillian had already turned and headed out the door.

      His beauty rest?

      He frowned at her retreating back. Widow Serafine might not technically have been his patient before today, but the woman had needed her bridge repaired. Had Jillian honestly expected him to turn her away?

      No, which meant she was still holding a major grudge about Camp Cavelier.

      Michael knew the drill. Because he’d run late for the interview and because of the things he’d said in the heat of the moment, so she’d decided to interpret his reservations about the camp to mean he didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t, of course, but he would never abandon her on one of her crusades.

      He’d apologized, but, unfortunately, it looked like an apology wasn’t going to do the trick. Jillian was too damned efficient and proud. She didn’t like needing help in the best of circumstances. In all the years he’d known her, he couldn’t ever remember hearing her admit she’d bitten off more than she could chew. And she had, a few times.

      His incredibly competent wife routinely faced challenges that would send most people running in the opposite direction. She always managed to buck up and keep her eyes on the goal, though. He knew the craziness would eventually pass, the pressure would be off and their days would return to normal.

      But life could get hairy in the process….

      On the rare occasions Michael had run afoul of her efforts, he’d found himself eliminated from the equation. Camp business, including Widow Serafine and her family, would now become Jillian’s exclusive domain.

      He frowned at the

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