Ma’am. Shit. She’s a woman, yes, but she’s also a physician. I should refer to her by her title, just like I would a man in her position. “I’m sorry about that, Doctor …” My eyes scan the badge clipped to her chest pocket. “Doctor Carrington.” I run my hand through my hair again, feeling the nervous sweat bead at the crown. “It was disrespectful to call you ma’am, and I apologize for it.”
She cocks her head again, and this time a small smile crosses her face like she isn’t sure what to think about me.
“Either is fine,” she says quietly. “Ma’am or Doctor.” She props her hands on her hips, looking back at my arm. “I think ten days of rest is more important, can the … plants that you planted wait?”
I snicker a little at that. “Seeds.”
“Seeds?”
“We plant seeds,” I say again, clearing my throat a little. “Seeds that’ll turn into corn, wheat, and hay. We’re coming up on first crop, which means the hay we planted earlier this year will be ready to be baled soon. Some we’ll cut and sell, some we’ll save for the animals.”
She had been turning toward the sink with her hand reaching out to turn on the faucet when she freezes, and her head perks up at the mention of animals. She spins around with a smile ready on her face. “You raise animals?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a faint pink blush on the apples of her cheeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply. “We raise cattle. Beef cows. We have horses, pigs, and chickens, too. When my sister was younger, she wanted to have goats. Swore she was going to raise them to show ‘em. I made sure we bought her a handful of baby goats. She named them after Santa’sreindeer, and then she grew attached to them and cried when it came time to sell. Now I have nearly a dozen spoiled old goats that block traffic on our road and who like to dig in the garbage like feral raccoons.” My little sister Harper comes to the farm once or twice a week to hang out with them and feed them treats. When it's cold outside, she insists on dressing the smaller ones in pajamas, and since they’ve become pets now instead of useful livestock, I can’t ever get rid of them.
Dr. Carrington giggles at that with her head tilting back, leaving her slender neck on display. “Oh my gosh, I’d love to see Dasher and Prancer follow you around the fields.”
“You’re welcome to come any time,” I tell her, and I damn sure mean it. I’d die a happy man if this woman would come to my farm, or to even be interested in spending a day with me in the place I love the most. Either way, I’ve got to see her again.
“You in the business of inviting strangers to your farm, Mr. Hart?”
“Only when they’re as nice as you.” And as pretty.
The teasing banter between us comes out easily, too easily, and God, what I wouldn’t give for her to have some sort of flicker of recollection, to at least ask me why I look so familiar.
She spins back to the sink, one thumb reaching to pull off her first disposable glove, when she freezes.
She looks forward for a moment, and then her head twists to look at me. I hold her gaze as she works through her thoughts. Eyes flickering, and I can see the moment when her brows lift. Her eyes widen, and her perfect mouth pops open. “It’syou.”
My heart flutters deep within my chest, and I crack a smile. “It’s me.”
“From that night…”
“When I nearly knocked you into a snowbank,” I finish, and she giggles.
“When I…”
“When you were having the worst day of your life. I remember.” I remember every damn moment of that night. I drove myself crazy for weeks after that, even drove back to Madame Muffin once to get a cup of coffee. I sat in that vacant window seat, watching people walk by, wondering if I'd ever catch a glimpse of her.
“Oh my gosh.” She whips off her gloves, flips the sink handle on, and starts soaping her hands. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” she says, still facing the sink. “That day was just…” she trails off, reaching for a paper towel sheet and hastily dries her hands before tossing it away. She turns back to me as her left hand flies to her chest. “You have no idea what that night meant to me.”
I suck in a breath, sending up a thank you that she might have thought about me as much as I’ve thought about her, but something shiny catches off the overhead light. When I finally break my attention from her smile and look at the hand that’s still resting on her chest, I notice the giant rock sitting atop her ring finger.
I had been so focused on her smile, on those dark chocolate eyes that locked on me, and distracted by the thought that my dream girl was plunked right in front of me for the second time that I didn’t even check to see if she was wearing a ring. Of course she’s married. Engaged. Whatever it is. A woman like her doesn’t stay single for long. And a woman like her doesn’t flirt with dirty ranchers hoping to get invited out on a date.
I rack my brain for that night, wondering if I saw a ring on her hand. I remember she had mittens on, but wouldn’t she have taken them off in the coffee shop? Did I ever squeeze her hand?
She must notice the abrupt change in mood and the furrow in my brow because as my expression plummets, she looks at me, following my gaze to the ring on her hand.
She drops it from her chest, holding it out in front of her, fingers splayed, and with her free hand, she twists the gigantic rock around. “I…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, and this time, I don’t prompt her to.
She takes a step back and a mask of professionalism slams down on her face. “Piper will come in and get you cleaned up and prepped. I’ll be back soon to place those stitches.”
Chapter Three
Holly
