Saving Dr. Ryan by Karen Templeton Page B

off—and not even for a couple hours, but she’d finally relented. She’d fed her right before they left, though, hoping the baby would sleep through until they got back. And even though Ryan reminded her they had his cell phone, just in case, he could tell she still worried. She was just one of those mothers who had a hard time being away from her babies, even for a little while.
    â€œYou can adjust that seatbelt if you need to,” he said when they got into the truck.
    â€œWhat? Oh, okay…”
    Only he had to lean over her to help her when the old belt refused to cooperate. Which put him way too close to her, close enough to catch her sweet, natural scent, nothing more than shampoo and soap and freshly washed clothes. Lord above, the woman washed clothes more than anybody he’d ever seen, other than his mother. And yesterday, she’d taken it upon herself to wash his, too, when he was out on a call. There his shorts and things were, neatly folded on his bed, when he got back.
    And she’d started…doing things to the house. Nothing major, and not cleaning, since he had Cherise to come in once a week to do that—not that he’d let Maddie clean, anyway, not this soon after giving birth. Just these little touches—flowers and stuff, you know?—that made the place look brighter.
    Like a real home.
    It irritated the life out of him. Not what she was doing: that he liked it as much as he did. Because soon Maddie would go away.
    She had to go away.
    â€œHow long is it?” she asked as they pulled out of the driveway.
    â€œNot far. Forty, forty-five minutes.”
    She nodded, pulled her bulky sweater more tightly together.
    â€œYou cold?”
    â€œNo.” Then she smiled. “Maybe a little.”
    â€œI can turn the heat on, if you like.”
    â€œOh. Well…okay.”
    For crying out loud, what was the big deal with asking somebody to just turn up the heat? Ryan looked over, took in her denim jumper—a maternity one, the only skirtlike thing she owned, apparently—the old canvas slip-ons on her feet. Her stockings or panty hose or whatever they were had a small run in them. “So,” he said, because the silence was beginning to drive him buggy, “you’ve never met Ned, you said?”
    She shook her head. Her hair did that slithery thing thatcaught the light. She’d begun to put on a little weight, Ryan noticed with a start. Enough to soften her features just a bit. Make her look even younger. More vulnerable.
    â€œI talked to him once, right after we were married. Sent him Christmas cards with pictures of the kids, too, every year. Never got one back, though.” She propped her elbow on the rest on the door, frowned down at her short nails, then looked at him. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? For thinking this could work?”
    â€œI think you’ve got a lot of guts,” he said, and meant it. When her brows lifted, vanishing underneath her bangs, he added, “But I guess it’s the crazy people who have the courage to attempt all the stuff the sane ones don’t.”
    She fiddled with her purse, lying on her lap, then laughed quietly. “That’s not answering my question.”
    â€œNo, I don’t suppose it is. But…” He thought on how to put this, then said, “Ned’s lived on his own ever since he retired from the Army, some thirty years ago. No wife, no kids. From time to time, he’ll take up with some mangy mutt, but he doesn’t even have one of those right now.” He glanced over at her. “From what I know about Ned McAllister, it doesn’t surprise me that he never sent you a Christmas card back. Even if you all could fit in that dump of his, he’s too set in his ways to adjust to having family around, not at this point in his life.”
    She met his gaze, just for a second, a funny expression on her face. Then she resumed