LITMIR.BIZ

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      As he checked the test strip, he tried to think of a diplomatic way to offer further assistance. Flipping it toward her, he indicated the test window. “Positive.”

      She groaned, and her expression grew bleak.

      Dropping the strip into the waste bag, he sealed the top. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a few samples of penicillin that will get you started.” He removed a packet of four pills from his bag and handed them to her. “On my way back from the hospital later, I’ll swing by my office and raid the sample closet. I think I can come up with enough to see you through. That way you won’t have to run out to a pharmacy to get a prescription filled and spread germs all over town. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for creating a public-health menace.” He tried another grin.

      It didn’t work.

      Marci fingered the sample packet, her manner once more wary. “I’m not in the habit of accepting favors.”

      At her suspicious look, he concluded that other men who’d done favors for her had expected a payback.

      The thought sickened him.

      “No strings attached, okay?” He held her gaze for a long moment, willing her to believe that not all men were crass or untrustworthy.

      She searched his eyes, and after a few seconds he detected an almost imperceptible softening in her features.

      “Do you have any over-the-counter medicine in the house that will help with the fever? Aspirin, ibuprofen?” Picking up his bag, he rose.

      She looked up at him from beneath those impossibly long lashes and nodded.

      “Take them on a regular basis. Drink lots of water. Rest. I’ll leave the samples hanging on your doorknob after my shift in the E.R. That way I won’t disturb you if you’re resting.”

      He headed toward the door, and she trailed behind him. Pausing on the threshold, he withdrew a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you feel worse, or things don’t improve by tomorrow, call me.”

      A few seconds ticked by as she read the card. Blinked. Swallowed. Lifting her chin, she looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”

      The expression of gratitude was delivered in a soft, shy tone that revealed an unexpected—and touching—vulnerability.

      On Saturday night, he’d been drawn to her physical appearance. But right now he found her appealing in a different way. Although she was a little thing—a good eight or nine inches shorter than his six-foot frame, he estimated—she radiated a quiet strength and dignity that he sensed had been hard-earned. Marci Clay, he suspected was a survivor.

      Yet that didn’t jibe with the air of defeat and distress he’d picked up from her on Saturday.

      So perhaps he was misjudging her character—as he’d misjudged Denise’s.

      That was a sobering thought.

      Easing back a step, he gave her a brief, professional smile. “No problem. This is what being a doctor is supposed to be about. Now get some rest and take your medicine. You should feel much better by tomorrow. And if all goes well, I expect you can be back on the job by Thursday.”

      Without waiting for her to respond, he descended the porch steps and strode toward Edith’s house, where he’d left his car.

      As he set his bag on the backseat, he glanced toward The Devon Rose. The door was closed, but he detected a movement behind the lace curtain that screened the drawing room from the scrutiny of passersby. Had Marci been watching him?

      The possibility pleased him—for reasons he didn’t care to examine.

      Sliding into the driver’s seat, he sent a quick look toward Edith’s house. And noticed the same phenomenon: a movement behind the sheer curtains at her living-room window. Had the older woman been observing him, too?

      Considering the gleam he’d noticed earlier in her eyes, that notion didn’t please him. On the contrary, it made him uncomfortable.

      Edith Shaw was gaining a reputation as a matchmaker, thanks to her part in pairing two couples in the past two years. And he did not want to be her next victim.

      Even if she had her sights set on a match as lovely as Marci Clay.

      Chapter Two

      “The Devon Rose.”

      “Marci? It’s J.C.”

      “J.C.!” Setting aside a measuring cup, Marci tucked the phone closer to her ear and gave her brother her full attention. “How’s Paris?”

      “Romantic.”

      She grinned. “I’ll bet. And how’s Heather?”

      “Happy. Gorgeous. Irresistible.”

      A female giggle sounded in the background, followed by a chuckle from J.C. Marci smiled. It was good to hear her big brother sounding lighthearted. He’d had more than enough worry to last a lifetime.

      “Tell her I said hi.”

      “Will do. How’s everything going?”

      “Good. I’m whipping up a batch of scones from her recipe as we speak.”

      No way did Marci intend to tell them she’d been sick. They deserved a carefree honeymoon. Besides, the penicillin had vanquished the strep throat in less than forty-eight hours. While she hadn’t yet regained full strength, Christopher Morgan’s prediction that she’d be back on the job by Thursday appeared to be coming true. She’d let Edith and Julie handle the tearoom today, but now that the last of their Wednesday guests had departed, she felt well enough to do a little baking.

      “I told Heather you’d breeze through. But you know how to reach us if you need us.”

      “Your itinerary and contact numbers are taped to the fridge. I check them every morning so I can live your European tour vicariously. That’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to the real thing.” She tried for a teasing tone, but couldn’t quite pull it off. The truth of the statement was too depressing.

      “Hey, your turn will come.”

      She tried again to lighten her tone. “Anything is possible, right?”

      “With God.”

      At his quiet response, she stopped pretending. Looking out the window, she watched a bird take flight and aim for the sky. “He and I aren’t well-acquainted.”

      “You could be.”

      “You never give up, do you?”

      “No. And look how my persistence paid off with Nathan.”

      “That was different. Trust me. I’m a lost cause.” The swinging door from the dining room opened as Edith bustled through with a tray, and Marci used that as an excuse to change the subject. “Look, we’re in cleanup mode here, so I need to get back to work. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do on your honeymoon than talk to your sister.”

      Is that J.C.? Edith mouthed, her eyes lighting up.

      Heather nodded.

      “Tell him I said hi,” she whispered. “Heather, too.”

      “Edith says hi to you both.”

      J.C. chuckled. “I’ll pass that on. Call us if you need us.”

      “I will. Don’t worry about anything here. You just have fun.”

      “We intend to. Talk to you soon.”

      As the line went dead, Marci set the portable phone back in its holder on the counter and picked up the measuring cup.

      Edith planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t I get a report?”

      “I didn’t ask for details.” Marci filled the cup

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