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Her Forever Cowboy
Marie Ferrarella


“I thought we’d have a drink, celebrating our new relationship,” he told her in his best Southern-gentleman drawl.
“Our relationship?” Alisha echoed incredulously.
“Landlord and tenant,” Brett replied, indicating first himself, then her. “Why? What did you think I was referring to?”
Still sitting on the stool, she squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have a clue,” she lied. “That’s why I asked.”
“You want something light and fruity—or something hard?” he asked her.
The words seemed disconnected as they came out of the blue like that. Confused, she could only ask, “What?” as she stared at him.
“To drink,” Brett prompted. “Light and fruity—” he gestured toward the small array of bottles filled with colorful mixed drinks “—or hard?” he concluded, waving a hand toward the bottles that contained alcohol his customers downed straight.
“What did you just have?” she asked, nodding at his empty shot glass.
“Wild Turkey, 101 proof,” he told her.
She pushed her glass to one side and said, “I’ll have the same.”
Brett looked at her uncertainly. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s rather strong and you might get more than you bargained for.”
Her eyes locked with Brett’s. “I think I already have.”
Her Forever Cowboy
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author, MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com (http://www.marieferrarella.com).
To
Pat Teal,
who, 33 years ago,
said to me,
“Have you thought about writing a romance?”
Rest in peace, Pat.
I miss you.
Contents
Cover (#u1d56dc6b-f147-5db6-b1c5-84a6ddfd55ee)
Introduction (#u1c59d445-e117-5cca-b668-c6d69e959844)
Title Page (#u3efae654-c755-5f64-9d5a-1d2b550d0eec)
About the Author (#u30caec2f-a74a-5692-8130-d5b670c69de4)
Dedication (#u5b8a76b4-89e0-575a-b3d6-41e5fe4a6412)
Prologue (#ulink_d532b413-dd85-50ea-a9a7-e1dd7e5eb7e2)
Chapter One (#ulink_90d0d9a3-1c27-5d88-89dd-59675f488d88)
Chapter Two (#ulink_5045cc79-ec8d-545e-8333-59e83272cf8a)
Chapter Three (#ulink_8dc5cd0a-aeaa-551f-9034-bfbeaa7a6ecf)
Chapter Four (#ulink_fe1208d0-9803-5789-98a0-c4c4374437c4)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_bd167407-b98f-5139-a7d6-b21e49ef7773)
No one looking at her would have suspected that her heart had just been broken, or even bruised. She made sure of that.
Dr. Alisha Cordell prided herself on being self-contained. She wasn’t the type to let people in on her private hurt. Nor would she allow herself to shed tears. At least, not publicly.
Publicly, if she included the half-naked hospital administrator closeted with her fiancé as being part of the general public, the only display of emotion anyone had witnessed was when she’d thrown her three-carat diamond engagement ring at Dr. Pierce Belkin—a neurosurgeon who was much in demand, not always by his patients—and the aforementioned hospital administrator.
A flash of fury had accompanied the flying ring as well as a single seething word that wasn’t part of her usual vocabulary.
It hadn’t even been the sight of the ruggedly handsome Mayflower descendant making love to the vapid, overly endowed blonde that had made Alisha throw her ring at him. It was Pierce’s complete lack of contrition coupled with the snide remark—“Oh, grow up, Alisha. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m going to be your slave”—that made her lose her composure and had her throwing the ring and then telling Pierce to take up residence in a much hotter location.
The story was already making the rounds by the time she’d taken the elevator from the fifth floor down to the first. Not that she cared about the gossip. She’d never been the kind to pay any attention to whispers. But what convinced Alisha that she needed a change of scenery was the fact that although the hospital was far from a small place, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t be able to avoid running into Pierce or any of what she had come to realize were his numerous conquests.
Good at shutting out things that irritated her, Alisha still knew that she would be able to hold her head high for only so long before the situation would become intolerable to her.
There was no way around it. She needed to find somewhere else to be. Preferably somewhere far away.
As a rule, Alisha didn’t make friends easily. Dedicated, driven, she’d ignored socializing to focus on becoming the best all-around general surgeon she could be. In part—a large part—to honor her father.
A giant of a man, Dr. William Cordell had been a family-practice physician. Alisha was his only child, and she had adored him. A nature enthusiast, he would go camping whenever he could get away. His wife hadn’t shared his interest in the great outdoors, but Alisha had, and he had taken her with him, teaching her all the fundamentals of survival.
Cancer had abruptly ended her father’s life when she was just fourteen. She’d never been close to her mother, and the two had drifted even further apart after that. Alisha closed herself off emotionally and worked on achieving her goal to the exclusion of almost everything else. It kept her father’s memory alive for her.
The people she’d been thrown in with at college studied hard but partied harder. She remained on the outside fringes of that world. Looking back, she realized that the only reason Pierce had pursued her with such vigor was because she was the only female who had ever said no to him. He viewed her as a challenge as well as a budding gifted surgeon. In time, he thought of her as a worthy extension of himself, a professional asset.
Added to that, his parents liked her, and his grandmother, a very wealthy woman, was crazy about her. She’d referred to her as her grandson’s saving grace and wholeheartedly looked forward to their wedding.
Secretly missing the comforting security of a home life, Alisha had accepted Pierce’s proposal despite the uneasiness she experienced when she’d actually uttered the word yes. Her uneasiness refused to completely go away even as the weeks went by.
She should have gone with her gut. Alisha upbraided herself after the engagement ring—a family heirloom—had left her finger. It was her gut that had told her to turn Pierce down; her gut that told her that a so-called fairy-tale wedding and marriage were not in the cards for her, not with this self-centered Adonis. But loneliness was a powerful persuader, and she really had liked his family. In a moment of weakness, she’d agreed.
And now she was paying for it, Alisha thought ruefully.
The worst part was that this was not the first time she’d caught Pierce being unfaithful. But in each case, it had been after the fact, certainly not during the act, the way it had been this last time. And those other times, he’d made apologetic noises that she’d accepted. This time, there hadn’t even been the pretense of regret or remorse. If there was any regret about the incident, it was that he had gotten caught, nothing beyond that.
Well, her engagement—and Pierce—were now part of her past, and she wanted no reminders, no chance encounters to haunt her and make her uncomfortable, even inwardly. It didn’t matter how good a poker face she could maintain, she didn’t want to be reminded of her near-terminal mistake.
Moving away was not a problem. But finding a destination was. Where could she go? As if some unseen force was taking matters in hand, Alisha became aware of the fact that she was pondering her fate standing next to the physicians’ bulletin board, the one where almost anything could be found by those who had the patience to carefully scan the different missives tacked onto that board. There were courtside tickets to the next basketball game being offered for sale—or more accurately, resale—slightly used furniture in reasonable shape could be gotten for a song and so on. All in all, it was like a visual bazaar without the noise.
For a fleeting moment, looking at the bulletin board, it occurred to Alisha that she could have offered her engagement ring up for sale, but she decided that throwing it at Pierce was infinitely more satisfying than any money she could have gotten for it.
Besides, it had belonged to his grandmother, and she had liked the woman.
That was when she spotted it. A letter tacked on the upper left corner of the bulletin board. It was almost obscured by an ad for a European cruise of a lifetime. Moving the ad aside, she saw that the neatly typed letter was addressed to “Any budding, selfless physician reading this letter who might be willing to put in long hours for very little financial reward, reaping instead endless emotional satisfaction that he or she was making a difference in some good people’s lives.” There was more written after that, an entire long paragraph, describing the conditions in the area as well as summarizing the basic requirements. It was signed by a Dr. Daniel Davenport.
Alisha stared at the letter for a minute or so before she finally took it down to read more carefully.
Was this Dr. Daniel Davenport for real, sending something like this here? Alisha wondered. The recently graduated physicians at this teaching hospital were all aiming at practices that would have them working a minimum of hours for a maximum financial return. This letter sounded as if it was an appeal for a saint, or at the very least, for a doctor who was willing to travel to a third-world country on a regular basis.
Well, you wanted to get away. This certainly qualifies as getting away, a voice in her head pointed out.
Alisha stared at the address at the top of the letter. This Dr. Davenport lived somewhere called “Forever, Texas.”
Alisha frowned. Okay, not a third-world country, but she still hadn’t heard of the place. But then, she hadn’t heard of a great many places, and this Forever certainly sounded as if it was far away enough to qualify as getting away.
Alisha stared at the letter, weighing her options. The one thing she knew was that she did not want to remain here a second longer than she had to.
After a moment’s internal debate, rather than tack the letter back up on the bulletin board, she carefully folded it and put the letter in the pocket of her white lab coat.
Forever, Alisha mused. It had an interesting ring to it.
Chapter One (#ulink_9b0727b2-aa36-5aed-97a0-844b4067dacc)
“Pinch me, brother.”
Brett Murphy, one-third owner of Murphy’s and the older brother of the other two-thirds owners, Finn and Liam, paused wiping down the long, sleek counter of Forever’s only saloon as he saw Dr. Dan Davenport, walking by the establishment’s tinted bay window.
It was not the town’s only physician who had caught Brett’s attention but the tall, willowy young woman who was walking beside Dan. The tall, willowy young woman who was not Dan’s wife, Tina, or Holly Rodriguez, his new nurse.
“Why?” Liam asked, only half listening to him.
Though the saloon wasn’t actually open yet, and certainly not ready to go into full swing for a number of hours, Liam was doing a preliminary instrument check—for the second time. He and his budding band were playing here tonight, and Brett had raised him never to leave anything to chance or take anything for granted. Liam had his eye on someday leaving the saloon behind him and going professional.
Though he was seldom mesmerized by anything, Dan’s companion had managed to completely captivate him, even at this distance.
Now, that is one gorgeous woman, Brett couldn’t help thinking.
“Because, little brother,” he said aloud, “I think I’ve just seen the woman of my dreams.”
That managed to get Liam’s attention. His guitar temporarily forgotten, Liam looked up at his oldest brother then turned to see what Brett was talking about.
At that point, the young woman who had so completely caught Brett’s fancy had disappeared from view. Her presence was replaced by another female who was passing by. Mildred Haggerty.
Liam’s jaw slackened and dropped as he turned back to look at his brother.
“Mrs. Haggerty is the woman of your dreams?” he asked incredulously. “Have you had your eyes checked lately? Better yet, have you had your head checked lately?” Liam asked.
Mildred Haggerty was as tall as she was wide, had an overbearing personality with an unabashed drive to dominate everyone she came in contact with. A woman of some independent means, in her lifetime, she had buried three husbands. Rumor had it that they had all died willingly in order to permanently get away from the source of their misery, Mildred.
Brett looked at Liam as if the latter was the one who had lost his mind. But before Brett could remark on it, the front door began to creak, announcing that someone was disregarding the hours that were posted outside and coming into Murphy’s. In general, Brett was rather flexible about adhering to the hours carved into the sign, enforcing them when the whim hit him. He was not above welcoming the lone, stray customer before hours.
Thinking that Mrs. Haggerty was the one entering—possibly trolling for husband number four—Liam took it upon himself to loudly announce, “We’re not really open for business yet.”
“How about pleasure?” Dr. Dan Davenport asked as he held the door open for the reason he had come to Murphy’s in the first place. The young woman accompanying him walked into the saloon, squinting slightly as her eyes became accustomed to the darkened interior. “Are you open for pleasure?” Dan asked, a broad grin on his lips.
All in all, the physician looked like a man who had just caught hold of a lifeline, one he hadn’t really expected to materialize, Brett thought.
His green eyes slowly traveled over the length of the woman who’d been ushered in by the town’s only doctor. Brett took in her long, straight blond hair, her fair complexion and her almost hypnotically blue eyes.
If possible, the woman looked even better close-up than she did at a distance.
“Pleasure it is,” Brett acknowledged, wondering who this woman was and, more important, if she was staying in town for an extended visit. Was she a friend of the doctor’s, or perhaps a friend of Dan’s wife, Tina, neither of whom were actual natives of the town?
Dan inclined his head, picking up Brett’s answer. “Then it’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you two to the lady who answered my ad—and my prayers.” For his part, Dan resembled a little boy who had woken up on Christmas morning to discover that everything he had asked for was right there, beneath the Christmas tree.
“You advertised for an angel?” Brett asked, putting his own interpretation to Dan’s introduction.
Alisha Cordell had always had sharp eyes that missed very little. She narrowed them now as she looked at the man behind the bar.
This dark-haired, green-eyed bartender fancied himself a charmer, a smooth talker, she thought with an accompanying degree of contempt. The contempt rose to the surface as a matter of course. After Pierce, she’d had more than her fill of good-looking men who felt they were God’s gift to women. Her conclusion had been that the better-looking they were, the worse they were.
“Dr. Davenport advertised for a doctor,” she informed the would-be Romeo massaging the counter in no uncertain terms.
The look she gave the man just stopped short of being contemptuous. If this two-bit cowboy thought she would instantly become smitten with him because he was clearly handsome and capable of spouting trite compliments, he was going to be very sorely disappointed, Alisha silently predicted. She hoped the rest of the men in town weren’t like this.
And if she was going to be staying in this dusty little burg, even for a little while, this cowboy—and anyone else who might share the same stereotypical mind-set—needed to be put in his—and their—place, as well as on notice that she wasn’t here to indulge their fantasies. The only reason she was here and would even entertain the idea of remaining here was to help Dr. Davenport heal their wounds and take care of their ills.
Nothing else.
Brett detected the flicker of fire in her eyes, and his grin widened. “Well, I think I’m getting feverish, so I just might wind up being your very first patient,” he told what was hopefully Forever’s newest resident.
Alisha took a certain amount of pleasure shooting the sexy bartender down.
“I’m just here to observe for the first few days, so I’m afraid that Dr. Davenport would be the one who’ll have to treat your fever,” she informed him crisply.
Dan cleared his throat and launched into introductions. “Brett and Liam Murphy,” he said, waving a hand at first one, then the other of the brothers as he said their names for Alisha’s benefit, “I’d like you both to meet Dr. Alisha Cordell. Dr. Cordell,” he went on, reciprocating the introduction, “Brett and Liam. They’re two-thirds of the owners of Murphy’s, Forever’s only saloon.”
Brett inclined his head. “Pleased to have you in Forever,” he told her. His voice became only a tad more serious as he said to her, “The doc here could really use the help.”
“I’m sure,” Alisha replied, sounding exceedingly formal.
She hadn’t wanted to be impolite to the doctor, but she’d tried to tell him that this tour of the town and its residents was really unnecessary. She’d come here to practice medicine, to answer the call for a physician, not concern herself with socializing. After the fiasco with Pierce, she’d had more than enough of socializing to last her for a very long time.
Possibly forever. The irony of that thought was not lost on her.
But since she was here, Alisha thought with resignation, she might as well pretend she was taking the scenery—and its people—in.
Alisha scanned the saloon slowly. The place had an exceedingly rustic look to it, as if the building had been here for at least the past seven or eight decades, if not longer.
Was this the extent of the diversion that the town had to offer? she wondered in disbelief.
“And this is where people come for a night out?” she asked, not bothering to hide the incredulous note in her voice.
“Dr. Cordell is from New York,” Dan felt obligated to tell the two men. It wasn’t an apology so much as an explanation for the obvious disbelief in the young woman’s voice.
He’d come from New York himself, although at this point, it felt as if that had been a hundred years ago instead of just four. At the time, it hadn’t even been a sense of altruism that had brought him here. Guilt had been the emotion that was responsible for bringing him to Forever.
Guilt and a sense of obligation.
He felt he owed it to Warren. Warren had been his younger brother, and a more quietly dedicated human being hadn’t ever walked the face of the earth. He’d been the one to fatefully convince Warren to come out on one last night on the town before Warren left for the godforsaken dot on the map where he intended to set up a practice. Forever hadn’t had a doctor for thirty years and was in desperate need of one within its borders.
A car accident that night had claimed Warren’s life while leaving him with nothing more than an outward scratch. Internally, though, was another matter. For weeks afterward, he had been all but hemorrhaging guilt. But even so, he’d initially planned to stay in Forever only until a suitable replacement for his late brother could be located.
He hadn’t counted on falling in love—with the town and with Tina Blayne, a single mother and the sheriff’s sister-in-law.
Life truly happened while you were making other plans, Dan thought now. And while he didn’t expect this young woman who had responded to his letter to feel the same way about the town, he had to admit that he was secretly hoping that she would in time.
“New York, eh? Don’t worry,” Brett assured Dan, even though his eyes never left the woman. “We won’t hold that against her.”
Alisha raised her chin, as if she had just been challenged. Of late, she knew she had gotten extremely touchy, but knowing didn’t seem to help her rein in that feeling.
“Why should you?” she asked.
Brett didn’t take offense at her tone. Rather, he just rolled with it, asking, “Short on senses of humor back in New York, are they?”
Alisha never missed a beat. “Not when something’s funny,” she said.
“Feisty,” Brett pronounced, this time directing the comment toward the senior doctor. The grin on the bartender’s face seemed to grow only sexier as he observed with approval. “She might just survive out here, then.”
Dan made a quick judgment call, seeing the need to usher the young woman out before barbs began being exchanged. “Let me bring you over to Miss Joan’s,” Dan suggested.
Alisha glanced over at him, trying to hide her uneasiness. “That’s not a brothel, is it?”
Brett was the first to succumb, laughing at the idea of the vivacious septuagenarian and diner owner who was part of all their lives for longer than anyone could remember running a house of ill repute. Liam quickly followed, and Dan held out for almost a minute, biting his tongue and trying to think of other things.
But the very image of the redheaded Miss Joan as a madam proved to be too much for him, as well, and he laughed until his sides ached, all the while trying to apologize to a less-than-entertained Alisha.
“I take it the answer’s no,” Alisha surmised, doing her best to maintain her dignity amid this joke she felt was at her expense.
It was Brett who answered her because Dan appeared to still be struggling for control. “Miss Joan runs the local diner. She dispenses hot food and sage advice, depending on what you need most. She’s been here for as long as anyone can remember. Longer, probably. The diner’s also the place where everyone goes to socialize when they’re not—”
“Here, drinking,” Alisha said, reaching the only conclusion that she could, given the facts as she perceived them.
Brett corrected her. “When they’re not here socializing.” His manner remained easygoing, but he wasn’t about to allow misinformation to make the rounds. Murphy’s wasn’t only his livelihood, a way that had allowed him to raise his brothers while keeping an eye on them; it was also his heritage. The saloon had been passed on to him after his uncle had died. Before that, his late father had run the establishment. To Brett, Murphy’s was almost as much of a living entity as his brothers were.
“Don’t they come here to get drunk?” Alisha pressed, recalling some of the parties that had gone on after hours while she was attending medical school. Nobody drank for the taste or to just pass away an hour; they drank to get drunk and even more uninhibited than they already were.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw that his brother was taking offense at the image the young doctor was painting. He wanted to set this woman straight before something regrettable might be said. Liam was soft-spoken and he meant well, but a lasting relationship between his brain and his tongue hadn’t quite been reached yet.
“Not nearly as much as you would think,” Brett told her, keeping his smile firmly in place. “I’m not sure exactly how it is in New York, but out here, we do look out for each other—and that includes knowing when to cut a customer off.”
“Except for Nathan McLane,” Liam interjected. The youngest Murphy brother was nothing if not painfully honest—to a fault, Brett sometimes thought.
Alisha looked from Liam to Dan. “Who’s Nathan McLane?”
“A man who’s married to the world’s most overbearing wife,” Brett answered. “Nathan has a very strong reason to come here and drown his sorrows.”
“So you let him get drunk?” she asked, trying to get the story straight.
Brett caught the slight note of disapproval in her voice. “It’s either that, or raise the bail for his release because the poor guy’s going to strangle that woman someday just to get her to stop nagging him.”
Alisha frowned. The dark-haired man was making it sound as if he was doing a good thing. “How noble of you.”
Brett didn’t rise to the bait. He was not about to argue with the woman. He wasn’t in the business of changing people’s minds, only in telling it the way he saw it. “Dunno about noble, but it does keep everyone alive,” he informed her.
Dan lightly took hold of Alisha’s arm, wanting to usher her out while the young doctor who could very well be the answer to his prayers was still willing to remain in Forever and lend him a hand.
Glancing over her head, he indicated to Brett that he had a feeling that if his new recruit remained here, talking to him for a few more minutes, she might be on the first flight out of the nearby airport—headed back to New York.
“Next stop, Miss Joan’s Diner,” Dan announced.
“Hey, Lady Doc,” Brett called after her. Pausing by the door, she turned to spare him a glance. “Nice meeting you.”
“Yes,” she replied coolly. “You, too.” The door closed behind them.
“Wow, if that was any colder, we’d have to bring out the pickaxes to break up the ice around you,” Liam commented.
Brett saw no reason to dispute that assessment. However, true to his ever increasingly optimistic, positive nature, he pointed out, “That means that we can only go up from here.”
Liam shook his head. It was clear that wasn’t what he would have come away with. “You know, Brett, when I was a kid, I never thought of you as being the optimistic type.”
“When you were a kid, you never thought,” Brett reminded him with an infectious, deep laugh. Then he pretended to regard his brother for a moment before saying, “Come to think of it, you haven’t really changed all that much—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Liam said, shaking his head as he waved away his brother’s comment. Glancing toward the door, he asked Brett, “Think she’ll stay? She didn’t look too impressed with the place.”
“Neither was Dan when he first arrived,” Brett reminded his brother. “But Forever’s got a lot of positive things going for it, and besides, it’s got a way of growing on people.”
“Yeah,” Liam laughed shortly as he went back to checking out the musical instruments. “Well, so does fungus.”
“And that, little brother, is one of the reasons why no one’s ever going to come up to you and ask you to write the travel brochure for Forever,” Brett said wryly.
Liam looked at him quizzically. “Forever’s got a travel brochure?”
Brett sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes, Liam, I do despair that all that higher education you were supposed to acquire while I was here, slaving away to pay the bills, was just leaking out your ear as fast as it went in.”
Liam frowned at his brother, but his mood left as quickly as it had materialized. Ever since he was a child, it was a known fact that Liam didn’t have it in him to stay mad at anyone, least of all his brothers.
Finished with what he was doing, Liam went on to step two of his process. “I’ve got to go round up the band and make sure everything’s set for tonight.”
Brett nodded as he went back to cleaning an already gleaming counter. He wasn’t content until there were at least two coats of polish on it, buffed and dried.
“You do that, Liam,” he told his brother. “You do that—just as long as you remember to get back here by six.”
Liam stopped just short of opening the front door. “I don’t go on until nine,” he reminded Brett.
“Right,” Brett agreed, sparing his brother a glance before getting back to polishing, “but you’re tending bar at six. Tonight’s our busy night,” he added in case Liam had lost track of the days, “and I can’t manage a full house alone.”
“Get Finn,” Liam told him. “He doesn’t have anything else to do.”
Brett caught his brother’s meaning. That he felt he had found his calling and wanted to be free to put all his energy toward it.
“Don’t belittle your brother just because he hasn’t found his heart’s passion yet,” Brett chided. “It doesn’t come to everyone at the same time.”
“How about you, Brett? What’s your passion?” Liam asked.
“I like running the bar.” He made no apologies for it. His running the bar had been the family’s saving grace. Rather than feel restrained by it, he was grateful for it and enjoyed being the one in charge of the place.
But Liam looked at him in disbelief. “And that’s it? Nothing else?”
Brett took no offense at the incredulous tone. Liam was young and couldn’t understand anyone who had a different focus, or aspirations that differed from his. He’d learn, Brett thought.
Out loud he said, “I like having my brothers pitch in without having to listen to some complicated internal argument that they feel obliged to repeat for me out loud.”
Liam’s handsome baby face scrunched up for a moment, as if thinking took every shred of concentration he had at his disposal. “That’s supposed to put me in my place, isn’t it?” he asked.
Brett flashed a tolerant grin at him. “Nice to know that all my money for your higher education wasn’t completely misplaced. Okay, go,” he said, waving Liam out the door. “Get your band ready and get back here by six.”
The expression on Liam’s face testified that he’d thought this argument had been resolved in his favor. “But—”
Brett pretended he didn’t hear his brother’s protest.
“With luck, I’ll get Finn to help. He doesn’t whine,” he added for good measure.
“Oh, he whines. You just don’t hear him” were Liam’s parting words.
But Brett had already tuned him out. There were still things to see to before Murphy’s officially opened its doors for the evening.
Chapter Two (#ulink_d46b0858-98b7-5d0a-8e0a-980338a1f6a5)
“It’s open, but I’m not serving yet,” Brett called out in response to the light knock on the saloon’s front door.
He thought it rather unusual that anyone would be knocking rather than just trying the doorknob and walking in. Most everyone in town knew that the door was unlocked not just during normal business hours—hours that extended way into the night—but also during nonbusiness hours if any one of the Murphys were down on the ground floor. The only time the doors were locked was if they were all out or if one of them was upstairs.
The upper floor housed a small apartment that had once been occupied by Patrick Murphy, their father’s older brother, when he was alive and running the family establishment. Although Brett and his brothers lived in a house close to Murphy’s, there were times when Brett stayed in the apartment after putting in an exceptionally long night, too tired to walk home. And there were those times when he just wanted to grab a little time away from everyone in order to recharge batteries that were almost perpetually in use.
“That’s fine because I’m not drinking yet,” Olivia Santiago replied as she walked into Murphy’s.
Turning around to look at the tall, slender blonde, one of Forever’s two lawyers, Brett was more than a little surprised to see the woman here at this hour—and alone. It wasn’t even noon.
He stopped restocking and came to the bar closest to the front door. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the sheriff’s wife grace my establishment?”
“I’m not here as Rick’s wife,” Olivia told him, sliding onto a bar stool.
Brett reached for a bottle of ginger ale, knowing that was the lawyer’s beverage of choice before six o’clock. Taking a glass, he filled it and then moved it in front of her, before pouring one for himself.
He took into account the way she was dressed. Olivia had on a dark gray jacket and a straight matching skirt. A soft pink shirt added a touch of warmth to her appearance. Nonetheless, she was dressed for business.
“Then this is an official visit?” he surmised.
“If you mean am I here as a lawyer, the answer’s yes,” she confirmed, then paused to take a sip.
“Someone suing us?” Brett asked, unable to think of any other reason she’d be here in her professional capacity. Even so, he couldn’t think of a single reason anyone would be suing them.
Olivia’s mouth curved. “Should they be?” she asked after taking another long sip from her glass.
Brett paused for a moment, as if giving her question due consideration. “Can’t think of anyone who’d want to, but both my only relatives are accounted for and alive, so I can’t think of another reason for you to be here at this hour like this.”
“Maybe I decided to take a break from work,” she suggested.
“You’re a workaholic. You don’t take a break. I don’t think you even stopped to take a breath after you gave birth.” Births and deaths were very big events in a town the size of Forever. Each were duly noted and remembered by one and all.
“Oh, no, I stopped,” Olivia assured him with feeling. “Trust me, having a child is a pretty life-altering event. You have to stop whatever else you’re doing in order to absorb the full impact.”
“I wouldn’t know firsthand, but I’m not about to dispute that,” he told her. He nodded at her glass and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
Slight confusion creased her brow. “I thought that you and Miss Joan had an agreement. She doesn’t serve any alcoholic beverages, and you don’t serve any food.”
“We do and I don’t,” he confirmed. “But I’ve got several kinds of nuts to offer my customers.” Then, by way of an explanation in case, as a lawyer, she viewed that as a deal breaker, he said, “I don’t think anyone really considers nuts to be food.”
“Don’t tell that to the squirrels,” she commented, then smiled. “I’m fine,” she assured him before adding, “No nuts. Thanks.”
Brett shrugged as he returned to restocking the bar. “Don’t mention it. Any time I can not get you something, just let me know.”
Olivia remained silent for a few minutes, as if waiting. She smiled at Brett when he turned around again to pick up another bottle of alcohol.
“You’re not going to ask, are you?” she marveled. “You have an amazing lack of curiosity. Either that, or you have remarkable restraint.”
“It’s not that,” Brett replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned on the other side of this bar, it’s that if someone has something to say, you give them enough time, they’ll tell you—if only to get it off their chest. All I have to do is wait—and if there’s one thing I’ve gotten really good at, it’s waiting.”
Olivia bided her time until he’d set down the two bottles of vodka in his hands before telling him, “That’s not the only thing you’re good at, apparently.”
“Okay, now I’m curious,” Brett admitted. “That comment’s going to need some explaining.”
Olivia leaned slightly over the bar, her body language calling for his undivided attention even though they were the only two people in the bar. “Do you remember Earl Robertson?”
He thought for a moment—not because he couldn’t put a face to the name, but because he was trying to remember the last time he’d seen the man who had been a friend of his father’s. It had to have been at least three years since the man left town. Maybe more.
“Sure, I remember Earl. He took off to live in Taos, New Mexico. Said he always wanted to see that part of the country.”
He didn’t add that he had tried to persuade the man to stay. Earl had been getting on in years, and as far as he could tell, the man had no friends or family in Taos. No one to look out for him. But to suggest that would have meant wounding the man’s pride, and that was something he hadn’t been willing to do. For some men, pride was all they had. That was the case with Earl.
“What’s he doing these days?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“Not much of anything,” Olivia replied. “Earl Robertson died last week.”
The words hit harder than he’d expected. The man wasn’t family, but at this point, Earl was the closest thing to family he and his brothers still had. He felt he owed the old man a lot.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good guy,” Brett said after a beat.
“Apparently,” Olivia went on, “Mr. Robertson thought the same thing about you.” Brett looked at her, not sure what to expect as she continued. “He was grateful that you came to look in on him when he was sick that last time.”
Brett wasn’t much for taking credit for things. He preferred being perceived as a laid-back, carefree man rather than the nurturing person he actually was.
He shrugged off Olivia’s words, saying, “Hey, he didn’t have anybody, and he’d been there to help out when my parents died in that car accident. I think Uncle Patrick would have been completely at a loss as to what to do about the funeral and—to be honest—us, if it hadn’t been for Earl.
“And then when Uncle Patrick passed on,” he recalled, “Earl was there to make sure that my brothers and I were okay. He told me that if there was ever anything that I needed, to be sure to come to him. I was just sixteen and determined to look after Finn and Liam. I don’t have to tell you that I was pretty damn grateful that there was someone to catch me if I fell.” He shrugged as if his own actions were no big deal. “I was just trying to pay him back a little.”
Olivia nodded. Brett’s summary was in keeping with what she knew. “Well, Mr. Robertson apparently remembered that.”
There was something in the lawyer’s tone that caught his attention. “Where’s this going, Olivia?”
Olivia smiled, obviously happy to be the bearer of good news. “It seems that Earl Robertson left his ranch to you.”
Brett stared at her. Although Forever was surrounded by ranches, the thought of him owning one had never crossed his mind. He knew that Earl had the ranch, but he’d never wondered who it would go to if the man didn’t return from New Mexico.
“You’re kidding,” he all but whispered, somewhat stunned by the news.
“Not during office hours,” Olivia replied with an exceptionally straight face.
Numb, he asked, “Did Earl say what he wanted me to do with it?”
Olivia finished the last of her ginger ale, placed the empty glass on the bar and then said, “Anything you want would be my guess. Looks like you’re finally a cowboy, Brett.”
He thought about the plot of land that had belonged to Earl. As far as he knew, it hadn’t been worked since the man had left. For that matter, it hadn’t really been worked for a year before that, either. That was about the time when the man’s health had begun to take a turn for the worse. He did recall that during the man’s final days in Forever, Earl had him sell off his stock. After Earl left for Taos, the place remained abandoned.
What the hell was he supposed to do with an abandoned ranch? Brett wondered.
“You sure about this?” he asked Olivia. “I’ve got enough on my hands just running this place.” Then, in the next breath, he asked, “Can I sell it?”
“Sure. You can do anything you want with it,” she reminded him. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t sell it just yet. You might want to consider doing something with the spread down the line. After all, you and your brothers take turns running the bar. Can’t see why you can’t do the same thing with the ranch. Maybe turn it back into a working spread again. Rick told me that’s what it was before Earl got sick.”
Brett laughed shortly. “What the hell do I know about running a ranch?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I do know that despite that laid-back charm of yours, you’re actually a very determined man, accomplishing anything you set your mind to. Learning how to run a ranch would come easy to you. Besides, you’ve got friends, and they’re probably more than willing to pitch in and help you out.
“And,” she continued logically, “if, after a while, you decide you still don’t want to be a cowboy, then I’ll help you locate a buyer. I’m sure we can find someone who’ll be happy to take it off your hands. The property’s just outside the north border of the town. Being that close, there’re endless possibilities for it if ranching doesn’t appeal to you. Town needs a hotel. You could build one on the property and still have enough left to have a small spread, or anything else that presents itself to you.”
She leaned back on the stool for a minute, studying him. Her smile widened.
“What?”
“Just picturing you riding around your property.” She cocked her head, thinking. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you on a horse, Brett.”
Brett began to dust off some of the bottles that hadn’t been pressed into service for a while. He believed in running a relatively pristine establishment. “There’s a reason for that.”
“You don’t ride?” she guessed.
“I don’t own a horse,” he corrected. “Don’t have a reason to.”
Her curiosity aroused, she pressed for an answer. “But you can ride?”
“Everyone can ride in Forever,” he told her. “Some of us just choose not to.” He stuck the dust cloth in his back pocket while he rearranged a few of the bottles.
“Understandable.” Olivia slid off her stool in a single fluid movement. “Well, I’ve got to be getting back. Come by the office when you get a chance so I can officially show you the will. I should have the deed transfer all squared away and notarized for you in a couple of days.”
Brett nodded, still trying to come to terms with what she’d just told him. Owning Murphy’s was something he’d just accepted as part of his heritage. Owning property—a ranch, no less—was something he was going to have to get used to.
“Will do,” he told her. And then a thought hit him. “Oh, Olivia?”
About to cross to the front door, Olivia turned to look at him, waiting. “Yes?”
He tried to make his question sound like a casual one. “What do you know about the new doc?”
Olivia smiled. “Other than the fact that Dan’s overjoyed she’s here, and Tina is now hopeful that she’ll see Dan sitting across from her at dinner at least a few times a week?”
Brett laughed. “Yes, other than that.”
“Not much,” she admitted.
The new doctor had been in town for a couple of weeks, and no one had struck up a casual conversation with her, as far as he knew.
“Dan says her credentials are impeccable, she graduated at close to the top of her class and her letters of recommendation are glowing, although I have a feeling that he would have hired her even if the letters had been only a tad better than mediocre. Right now she’s staying with Tina and Dan until she can find a place of her own, and according to Tina, she’s not exactly very talkative. Why?” she asked as it suddenly dawned on her why Brett was asking. “Are you interested?”
“I’m always interested in a pretty woman,” he answered. “Especially when I can’t figure out what she’s doing here.” He saw Olivia raise an eyebrow quizzically in response to his words. “Someone who looks like that doesn’t just pick up and move out to the middle of nowhere.”
Olivia pretended to be insulted. “Are you telling me that I’m not attractive?”
“You didn’t move out into the middle of nowhere. You came looking for your runaway sister,” he reminded her. “And while you were looking, you fell in love with Rick. Then you decided to stay. That’s different.”
Olivia considered his narrative. “Maybe she came here looking for something, too,” she suggested.
“Like what?” he asked.
“That would be something for an enterprising cowboy to find out,” Olivia told him with a knowing wink, looking at him significantly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” Brett echoed.
Brett paused, thoughtfully watching Olivia leave. The last part of their conversation had intrigued him more than the first part of it had, despite the fact that he had apparently just inherited an entire ranch that he hadn’t a clue what to do with.
As with everything else that challenged his problem-solving skills, he pushed the matter temporarily from his mind. He’d much rather center his thoughts on the lovely, uncommunicative lady doc.
Now, there was a challenge he would more than willingly tackle.
The word tackle caused his smile to widen as he went about his work.
* * *
THE NOISE LEVEL in the bar that night made it difficult to carry on a decent conversation that went beyond a few simple words. As had become the habit on Friday nights, Liam and his band were providing the entertainment at Murphy’s. The band was in full swing, the music all but shaking the rafters. He could just see the few knickknacks in the apartment above slowly vibrating across the floor.
Listening, Brett had to admit, if only to himself for now, that his little brother was a damn fine performer. Liam played the guitar as if it was an extension of himself, and his voice wasn’t just tolerable; it was actually good.
And getting better all the time.
As far as he knew, Liam had been at this for about a year, finally finding the courage to play in front of the people he had known all his life. Fearing that his aspirations could never reach the heights he’d wished for himself, that he was good only in his own mind, Liam had even held back from playing for his own family. It wasn’t until both he and Finn had all but bullied their younger brother into giving them a demonstration that Liam had finally played for them. What began hesitantly had gone on to be a performance worthy of a budding professional—and Brett had been the first to realize that.
After a bit of soul-searching—he’d always been protective of his brothers, although the two really weren’t that aware of it—Brett had been the one to light a fire under Liam and encouraged his brother to bring his band and play at Murphy’s.
For now, the weekly performances were enough to satisfy the budding artist within Liam. But Brett knew in his heart that Liam wouldn’t be satisfied with this level of performing forever. Eventually, Liam would want to try his wings elsewhere. To see if he could fly.
As a rule, Brett didn’t much care for change, but at the same time, he understood that nothing ever really stayed the same. But that was his problem, not Liam’s. He just had to make his peace with that.
He wanted Liam to do whatever it took to make himself happy.
For a moment, Brett tuned out everything else in the bar and just listened to Liam play.
“He’s better than I thought he’d be.”
The comment, spoken in a normal tone of voice, still managed to cut through the din and his concentration to reach Brett. Half turning, Brett looked over to his right to see the woman who had voiced her opinion. He just wanted to verify that it was who he’d thought it was.
And he was right.
And surprised. She was the last person he would’ve expected to be here, given what she’d implied two weeks ago. And while he’d considered coming to Dan’s clinic with some bogus health complaint just to see her in action, he’d decided to hold off and see if the woman was actually staying—or if she couldn’t hack it and decided to turn tail and run.
So far, the jury was out on that decision.
“That makes two of us,” he told Alisha in a vague, preoccupied voice. And then he turned on his charm. It was never far from the surface. “First drink’s on the house,” he told her, “although I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here.”
That made two of them again, she thought. “No more surprised than I am to find myself here.”
“You’re sleepwalking?” Brett asked, tongue in cheek, although there was amusement in his eyes.
She didn’t bother answering that since they both knew she wasn’t sleepwalking, and the suggestion bordered on the absurd. She didn’t know just what she was supposed to say in response to something like that. Bantering wasn’t her forte and, as far as she knew, Pierce had next to no sense of humor. It probably couldn’t find a place for itself with his giant libido taking up so much space.
Rather than make small talk, which she had no patience with and was not very good at in any event, Alisha went directly to the heart of the matter that had brought her here to this dim little establishment with its scent of alcohol, noisy occupants and high spirits.
“I’m told you have an apartment,” she said to Brett. And with those words, Forever’s new physician managed to accomplish the rare feat of surprising Brett Murphy twice in the space of a few minutes.
Chapter Three (#ulink_597a6b18-5c93-5d24-ba11-2144fd6e4fa0)
The noise level being what it was, Brett decided that he couldn’t have heard her correctly. Leaning in closer, he said, “Excuse me?”
“An apartment,” Alisha repeated, raising her voice to be heard above the din. Maybe that rancher she’d treated this morning had misinformed her, and there wasn’t any unoccupied living quarters to be had in this town. Doubts as well as frustration began to set in. “Do you or don’t you have one?”
Had she asked that question of Finn, Brett was fairly certain that his younger brother would have thought that Forever’s new lady doc was hitting on him. But Brett had a few miles on him, not so much in age—he was just thirty-two—but in what he’d experienced during that time, and he knew the look of a woman who was coming on to a man. The lady doc was most certainly not hitting on him.
To be quite honest with himself, he didn’t think he could accurately describe the expression he saw on her attractive face.
From where he stood, Lady Doc was an enigma, a puzzle waiting to be solved. In a nutshell, the lady was a challenge, and it had been a while since he’d been challenged.
His interest level went up several notches.
“I do,” he replied, then asked, cautiously, “Are you interested in seeing it?”
Viewing the accommodations didn’t really interest Alisha. As long as the apartment—probably nothing more than an oversize closet, she guessed, given the nature of this town—didn’t come with a roommate, that was all that really mattered to her.
“I’m interested in renting it,” she informed him in no uncertain terms. “It is for rent, isn’t it?” Alisha asked, realizing she hadn’t been told that one crucial piece of information.
“I thought you were staying with Dan and Tina. Did I get that wrong?”
“No, you didn’t get that wrong,” she acknowledged. “For the moment, I am staying with Dr. Davenport and his family.” There was less than enthusiasm in her voice.
“I take it that’s not working out for you? Living there?” he added when she didn’t answer.
Brett couldn’t envision either Dan or his wife making the lady doc feel uncomfortable enough to get her looking for other living arrangements. Both Dan and Tina were warm, giving people.
Maybe it was the other way around. Alisha Cordell’s looks were hot enough to melt a passing iceberg at twenty paces, but for the moment, he had to admit that the woman didn’t exactly strike him as being all that warm and toasty.
Alisha frowned. She didn’t like being questioned or prodded. Still, if he did have an apartment, she couldn’t exactly just walk out now, the way she wanted to. So she answered his question—but let him know that she didn’t appreciate his prying into her motives.
“Not that it’s any business of yours, but I feel like I’m in the way. It’s not that big a place,” she added when Brett continued studying her.
Brett took a bottle from behind him on the counter and poured a glass of pinot grigio, then placed it in front of her. She looked at the glass, then at him. “I didn’t order that.”
“I know. It’s on the house.”
Another good-looking male who thought he was God’s gift to women, she thought, tamping down her anger. Just because the man had a killer smile—and he knew it—did he think he could ply her with alcohol and get instant results? He was about to be surprised, she silently promised the bartender.
Taking out a five-dollar bill, she placed it on the counter. “I pay for myself.”
Rather than offer her an argument, Brett merely took the money and put it into the till. “Suit yourself,” he told her then got back to the business at hand. “As to the apartment, if space is what you’re after, I don’t think you’re exactly going to be thrilled with it.”
“Why?” she asked.
“To be honest, the whole thing is really just one big room,” he told her.
His late uncle’s apartment was predominantly meant to be just a place to sleep or to get away for a few hours, nothing more. It was not intended to suit the tastes of someone who was high-maintenance, and at the moment, that was exactly the way this woman struck him. Extremely high-maintenance.
But if that was the case, what the hell was she doing here? He sincerely doubted that a sense of altruism was what had brought her to Forever.
She surprised him by saying, “As long as I have it to myself, that’ll be fine. I don’t care if it’s small.”
Maybe he was misjudging her. He’d been wrong before—once or twice.
Her answer led him to the only conclusion he could make. “So I guess that means that you’re staying in Forever?”
“For now,” she qualified guardedly. Alisha didn’t believe in verbally committing herself to anything, especially not in front of someone who was the very definition of a stranger.
“How long is a now in your world?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, looking at him quizzically.
As far as she could see, there was no reason for Murphy to be asking her about her plans. It wasn’t as if renting the apartment to her would keep him from renting it to someone else. Obviously, the man had had no plans to rent it out to begin with. There was no sign out, advertising its availability. According to the rancher who had told her about the place, the apartment had never been rented out before to his recollection.
“That’s easy,” he told her. “I want to know if I’m going to be charging you by the day, the week or by the month.”
“By the month will do,” Alisha answered, her voice irritatingly high-handed.
He couldn’t help wondering if she was that way with her patients and decided that she probably was. It looked as though this angel of mercy needed a little help getting her signals right.
“You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.” He saw her opening her mouth to respond, and he just kept on talking. “You might find it a whole lot easier adjusting to Forever if you stop being so formal and loosen up a little.”
“You’re right,” she informed him stiffly. “I didn’t ask for it.”
Then, because he’d stirred her curiosity and because she did have to try to get along with these people at least until she decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life and where she was going to go in order to do it, she said, “Just out of idle curiosity, exactly how, by your definition, would you suggest that I go about loosening up?”
“Well, for one thing, people here call each other by their first names—just like I’m pretty sure they do in New York City.”
She really wished he’d stop smiling at her like that. She found it annoying—and unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Okay.” Brett tried again. “For instance, you keep calling him Dr. Davenport—”
“That’s his name,” Alisha interrupted.
“It is,” Brett agreed. “But so is Dan. Around here, people call him Dan or Dr. Dan if they aim on being extra respectful. You keep calling him Dr. Davenport, and Dan’s liable to think that you’re mad at him.”
That was ridiculous. “Mr. Murphy—” Alisha began in an exasperated voice, ready to put this man in his place—and that place definitely did not include giving her lectures.
“Brett,” he corrected, cutting in.
She didn’t come here to argue, Alisha reminded herself. She came to Murphy’s to try to get herself a little organized and ultimately secure a place to stay where she could have enough peace and quiet to hear herself think. The wounds from her sudden disillusionment and subsequent breakup were still very raw, and she needed to find a place where she could heal without hearing children squealing in the background.
This apparently was her only option, and she’d learned how to deal with limits before. “Okay, have it your way, Brett,” she said, deliberately emphasizing his name. “Now, are you or aren’t you going to rent out that apartment to me?”
Brett thought for a moment. The apartment was his hideaway, his home away from home. But since Olivia had informed him that Earl Robertson’s place was now his, that meant he could stay at that ranch house if he felt the need to get away for a few hours.
Besides, if she lived upstairs, this would give him the opportunity to interact with this iceberg who needed thawing in order to get in touch with her human side. The possibilities began to intrigue him.
His eyes met hers. “I’ll rent it to you,” Brett replied.
She felt an uneasy quiver in the pit of her stomach, something warning her that she was taking a step she might regret. The next moment, she locked the thought away. What was the worst thing that could happen? If she decided she’d made a mistake—again—coming here, she could just apply to another practice, pull up stakes and move on. It wasn’t as if this move couldn’t be undone.
“Good,” she replied, refusing to look away. “Let’s talk terms, Mr. Murphy.”
“First term is that you remember to call me Brett,” he told her patiently.
This man just didn’t give up, did he? “And the second term?” she asked him warily.
If there was a first term, there had to be a second one, Alisha reasoned, and she found herself definitely not trusting this man. He was far too good-looking and smooth to be someone she could trust.
Again, Alisha noted, her would-be landlord’s grin grew unnervingly wider. “The second term is that you don’t forget the first term.”
She waited, but nothing more came. “And that’s it?” she asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop—hard.
“That’s it,” Brett told her guilelessly.
“And the monthly rent?” Alisha pressed, wondering if it was going to be prohibitive—at least by his standards, she silently amended.
The woman really did seem anxious to live by herself, Brett thought, wondering if it was that she was antisocial, or if there was more to it that she wasn’t telling him. And just possibly, herself, he added.
“Why don’t you come upstairs with me and take a look at the place first,” he suggested. There was the chance that she really didn’t know what she was getting into, and what he thought was small might be unacceptable to her. “If you find that you like it, then we’ll discuss the rent.”
“I said I don’t have to see it. I’ll take it.”
Brett was not about to back off from this point. “And I said that I’d rather that you did see it,” he countered.
If she was going to rent the apartment, he didn’t want her turning around in a month and stiffing him for the rent because something about the place wasn’t to her liking. Having her view the place just meant there’d be one less problem down the road.
“Okay, show me the apartment,” she said, barely managing to stifle a huge sigh.
Brett nodded. “Knew you’d see things my way,” he told her.
Alisha swallowed the retort that rose to her lips as she reminded herself that for the time being, while she was here, this man’s apartment was her one and only option.
“Hey, Finn!” Brett called out to his brother from the far end of the bar.
Finn had just poured one of their regular customers a whiskey, neat, and glanced in his older brother’s direction. Brett beckoned him over with an exaggerated hand gesture.
Crossing to Brett’s end of the bar, Finn asked, “What?”
“I need you to take over the bar for a few minutes,” Brett answered.
“Where’ll you be?” Finn asked.
Brett nodded toward the woman on the other side of the bar. “I’m going to be showing Lady Doc here the apartment upstairs.”
“Oh? Oh,” Finn cried as the truth of the situation, at least as he perceived it, suddenly dawned on him. “Sure.” If possible, his grin was even wider than his older brother’s. “You take as long as you like,” he said, looking significantly at the new physician.
“That is strictly up to Lady Doc,” Brett informed him.
“Gotcha. You lucky dog,” Finn murmured to his older brother in a tone low enough for only Brett to hear. When it came to securing female companionship, both he and Liam agreed that Brett was the master.
“Strictly business,” Brett assured him.
Finn’s grin grew wider still, all but splitting his face in half. “If you say so. When I grow up, I want to be just like you,” he told Brett with a wink.
Brett’s response was to playfully cuff him.
Growing up an only child with no siblings to share anything with, good or bad, this kind of a physical exchange mystified Alisha—and, in a way, made her a little envious, as well.
“What was all that about?” Alisha asked. She’d heard only a few words of the exchange between the two brothers.
“A misunderstanding” was all Brett seemed willing to say. His answer made no sense to her since his cheerful expression did not match his words. “C’mon. This way,” he told her, leading the way to the rear of the saloon. There was a narrow corridor there that led to the restrooms on one side and an even narrower stairway on the other.
Alisha looked at the wooden staircase with its narrow steps in obvious dismay. Was that the only way to get to the second floor?
“There’s no private access?” she asked.
“The original owner didn’t think to build one,” he told her. His uncle had always liked to take the simplest path available to him.
The din suddenly swelled, growing even louder. Alisha glanced over her shoulder at the people at the bar and sitting at the small, round tables scattered throughout the room. A thought suddenly hit her. “I have to walk through the bar in order to get to the apartment—and in order to leave in the morning?” she questioned.
He answered, pretending that she was objecting to the distance, not the location. “It’s not that far from the front door to the back,” he told her. “You should be able to cross it making good time.”
Alisha glared at him. He was talking down to her, she thought. “I don’t need sarcasm.”
Brett inclined his head. “Duly noted.” With that, he began to retrace his steps, leaving her standing where she was.
Surprised, she called out to him, “Where are you going?”
“Back to the bar.” He nodded toward it. “Since you’re not interested in the apartment, I thought I’d get back to work.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in the apartment,” Alisha protested.
He made his way back to her. “You made it sound as if the lack of a private entrance killed the deal for you.”
She hated when things were just assumed about her—the way Pierce had just assumed she would go along with his behavior in exchange for his family name. “Did I say that?”
“No,” he allowed.
“Well, then, let’s go and see it,” she said, pointing up the stairs toward where she assumed the apartment was located.
Brett laughed, shaking his head as he got in front of her to lead the way up the stairs. “Lady Doc, you give out really mixed signals.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Alisha asked as she climbed up the stairs behind him.
“Calling you what?” he asked as he continued climbing.
Almost slipping, she clutched on to the banister more tightly. “Lady Doc,” she repeated unwillingly.
He spared her a glance, making note of the white-knuckle hold she had on the banister. Was she afraid of heights? he wondered.
“Well, aren’t you a doctor?”
“Yes, of course I am.” She was frazzled at this point, and it took effort not to snap.
“Then you object to being called a lady?” he asked, doing his best to keep a straight expression on his face.
She glared at his back. She really hoped that interaction with this man was going to be at a minimum. “No, of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he asked mildly.
Maybe he was just dense, but she had a feeling that he wasn’t. What he was was annoying. “For one thing, it’s not my name.”
“Not your legal name,” he emphasized. “Like I told you, we’re not uptight and formal here.” Reaching the top of the stairs, he stepped aside on the landing to give her space. There was very little available. “Lady Doc suits you,” he told her.
He was standing much too close to her, she thought, stepping to one side. Otherwise, if she took a breath, her chest would come in contact with his, and that was completely unacceptable.
“Dr. Cordell suits me better. What?” she asked when she saw the expression on his face.
“I think Lady Doc is a better fit, at least while you’re here.”
“Fine, just show me the apartment so I can write you a check and get this over with.” She gestured toward the closed door. “Why don’t you people have a hotel here?” she asked. All this could have been avoided if she could have just rented a room at the start of this whole venture.
He shrugged carelessly. “Haven’t gotten around to building one.”
“I noticed that.”
He pretended not to notice that she was being sarcastic now. “You might have also noticed that Forever isn’t exactly a tourist attraction. Most people who pass through here pass through here,” he underscored. “Those that come for a visit usually stay with the people they’re visiting. Having a hotel here wouldn’t exactly make wise business sense.”
Turning the knob on the door that led into the apartment, he pushed it open.
“Doesn’t that have a lock?” she asked, stunned. She was accustomed to apartments that came equipped with triple locks on their doors.
“It has a lock,” he replied, gesturing at it.
“With a key?” she emphasized through clenched teeth. Why did she have to spell everything out? Was he slow-witted, or did he just enjoy getting her annoyed?
“Ah, well, that’s another story.”
“Does it have a happy ending?” she asked.
He laughed. “There’s a key around here somewhere. I just have to find it.”
And most likely, make a copy of it, she thought. He’d probably think nothing of coming into the apartment—with her in it—in the middle of the night. “Better yet, once I rent this, can I get a locksmith in here?”
“Do you have a locksmith?” he asked her innocently.
“Don’t you?” she asked incredulously.
Just exactly what did this town have by way of services?
“Nope.” He saw her rolling her eyes and waited until she stopped. “We have a handyman, though.”
Alisha searched for inner strength. “Does he change locks?”
“I’ll have to ask him.”
“Do that,” she said pointedly.
“Then you’re going to rent this?” he asked.
Did she have a choice? “Is there another apartment in this town?”
“No.”
Just as she suspected, she was back to having no other options. It was this apartment, or living with Davenport and his family. She knew what her choice had to be.
Chapter Four (#ulink_c72b41f7-3607-57ee-bc1c-395fc1f444fe)
“Well, then, I guess you have yourself a tenant,” she told Brett after a few seconds had gone by.
Saying that, Alisha took a second, longer look around the premises. The last time she’d been in living quarters of this size, she was sharing the area with another medical student.
Alisha pressed her lips together, trying to focus on the upside of the situation, such as it was. Thinking back to her medical-school existence, she supposed this meant that she had twice the room now that she had then.
However, if she compared it to the accommodations she’d had when she and Pierce had lived together after they’d gotten engaged, well, then that was a whole other story. Coming from money, he’d resided in a Park Avenue apartment that was bigger than the clinic and Murphy’s put together. The walk-in closets were bigger than this apartment.
You could have still had that—if you didn’t have principles—and a soul.
Ultimately, she had no regrets over her decision to break it off with Pierce. If he felt free to cheat on her while they were engaged, nothing would change once they were married—for that matter, they might have just gotten worse. She’d made the right move in that situation. She just wasn’t all that sure about the move that had brought her to this backwater town.
“Having second thoughts?”
Brett’s question wedged its way into her train of thought. Alisha blinked, rousing herself and pushing aside memories that she no longer wanted to have any part of.
Turning toward him, she said, “Excuse me?”
“Second thoughts,” Brett repeated. “You had a strange look on your face just now, and I thought that maybe you wanted to change your mind about renting the apartment.”
He certainly couldn’t blame her if she did. He imagined that, coming from where she did, she was accustomed to far better accommodations. There was a manner about her that didn’t strike him as belonging to a struggling former medical student.
“No, I’ll take it,” she told him. This was better than nothing, and she really did want to have some time to herself.
“You haven’t heard the rent yet,” Brett reminded her.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it—although I doubt if you’re going to charge me very much,” she added, slanting a glance at him.
Walking into the space for the first time, she took a long, hard look around. Was it her imagination, or did the place seem smaller each time she did that?
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was small,” she commented.
“The last owner, my uncle Patrick, didn’t spend much time up here. Just used it for sleeping, mostly. There’s a combination stove, sink and refrigerator over there.” Brett pointed to a multipurposed appliance that stood against the opposite wall. It was a faded white, but he knew for a fact that it was still fully functional.
Alisha walked over to it, an expression of faint disbelief on her face. “Is that what this is?” She’d never heard of anything like that before. “And it really works?” she asked skeptically.
“It really works,” he assured her, turning on the faucet to prove his point. Shutting the faucet off, he then switched on one of the two gas burners adjacent to the sink. Instantly, a hypnotic blue flame leaped up as if on cue. Lastly, he opened the door below the sink/stove to show her the interior of the refrigerator. “What did you think it was?” Brett asked, shutting the door again.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Some creative toy meant for a child playing house would have been my best guess.” Looking around, Alisha realized that there was a very crucial piece of furniture missing. “There’s no bed.”
Brett’s smile contradicted her. “There’s a bed,” he said.
It wasn’t as if they were standing in a huge loft and she’d somehow missed it. “An invisible bed?” she countered.
Rather than answer her, Brett went over to the closet on the opposite wall and opened it. Just as he did, she crossed to it, thinking that perhaps he was about to lead her into another room. The next thing she knew, Brett was grabbing her and pulling her to one side.
“What the hell are you—”
Alisha didn’t get a chance to finish voicing her indignant question, as the bed that had been upright and hidden behind the closed door came flying down. Its four feet landed with a small thud on the wooden floor, part of it taking up the space where she had been standing just a moment ago.
Stunned, she found herself staring at a bed, comforter and all.
“Just keeping you from being smashed by your Murphy bed,” Brett answered as if she had just asked a perfectly logical question in a normal tone of voice.
The fact that he was still holding her didn’t immediately register. Her eyes widened as she turned her head to look at the bed that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
“A what?” she asked, referring to what he’d just called it.
Damn, but she felt soft and round in all the right places for such a compact woman, Brett couldn’t help thinking.
“A Murphy bed—no relation,” he quipped. “Some people call it a hideaway bed.”
“Just how old is this place?” she asked.
“Old,” he allowed. “The saloon downstairs has been renovated, but I didn’t see a reason to do anything up here since it really wasn’t being used very much.”
Suddenly aware that the man was much too close to her for her comfort, Alisha turned to look up at him, blanketing her vulnerability with bravado and doing her damnedest to ignore the rising heat she felt. “Is anything else going to come flying out at me?”
“Not that I know of,” he replied. A laugh punctuated his words.
“Then I guess you don’t have to go on holding on to me.”
Her tone was cool and authoritative, meant to cover up the fact that just for a split second, she was reacting to this closer-than-necessary contact between them. Reacting in the very worst possible way. Her body temperature had gone up, responding to his before she could forcefully shut everything down.
She’d already been this route before and learned a valuable lesson. Men who looked like Pierce—and Brett—weren’t capable of maintaining lasting relationships. They were far too enamored with themselves to spare the time for anyone else.
She didn’t need to bang her head against that wall twice, she silently reminded herself.
“Oh, I can think of a whole lot of reasons to hold on to you, Lady Doc,” Brett told her with a smile that was half wicked, half arousing. “Reasons that have nothing to do with falling Murphy beds.”
She needed to draw her lines in the sand now, so no mistakes could be made. “If you value hanging on to your limbs, Brett, I’d forget all about those reasons if I were you.”
She expected another dose of his charm and was surprised—and relieved—when Brett raised his hands in an exaggerated fashion, breaking the physical contact he’d established, and took a step back.
“Whatever you say, Lady Doc. I’ve never forced my attentions on a woman yet, and I’m not about to start at this late date,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t have grabbed you now, but if I hadn’t, that bed would have landed right on top of that pretty little head of yours. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I’ll write you that check now.” As she took out her checkbook, another question suddenly occurred to her. This time, she looked around twice before asking, “Where’s the bathroom?”
Brett nodded toward the entrance of the room and the stairs just beyond. “You passed it downstairs.”
He obviously didn’t understand, she thought. “I mean the one that goes with this apartment.”
“You passed it downstairs,” Brett repeated.
Her jaw almost dropped. “There’s no bathroom up here?” she cried.
“Not that I know of.”
“Didn’t your uncle have to relieve himself?”
“I’m sure he did,” Brett replied. “When he did, he went downstairs.”
That still didn’t solve the problem. Just how backward were these people? “What about bathing? Didn’t he bathe?”
“As a matter of fact, he did,” Brett answered, taking no offense at her tone. “That’s why he built a small room onto the back end of the men’s room—so he could take a shower there.”
Part of her couldn’t believe she was actually having this conversation. “Is there one like that in the back of the women’s bathroom?”
Brett shook his head. “Was no reason for it. Uncle Patrick never got married.”
Alisha felt as if she’d somehow fallen through the rabbit hole without realizing it. In an odd sort of way, she wanted to see just how far this would all go. “I can’t go into the men’s room to shower.”
“Don’t see why not as long as there’re no men in it. The place is pretty empty until about two in the afternoon or so, and it doesn’t really get going until about five, six o’clock,” he told her. “Listen, if you like, I can see about having Clarence bring a cast-iron tub upstairs. But you’ve got to remember that it’s going to take up most of the available space in the apartment,” he warned her.
“Clarence?” Who was named Clarence these days? she couldn’t help wondering.
“He took over running the hardware store after his dad retired,” Brett answered. “The man’s an absolute wizard with coming up with ways to get things that you need.”
Alisha laughed shortly to herself and murmured, “How about a brand-new start?”
“You need a new start?” Brett asked her, interested. “Why?”

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