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  Becca closed her eyes and groaned. “After that magazine article, they probably already believe you’ve sired half the children in the state of California. And that’s just for starters.”

  Matt set down the cooler and basket and called to Emily. When she returned to them, he knelt to meet her, and she threw her arms around his neck. “Can I call you daddy?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Matt said with a gentleness that touched Becca’s heart. “I can be your pretend daddy today, but it has to be our special secret. Nobody else can know.”

  Emily’s mouth puckered in a frown. “Not even Lizzie?”

  Matt shook his head. “Not even Lizzie.”

  Tears appeared in Emily’s eyes. “You won’t do the three-legged race?”

  Matt raised his gaze to Becca in question.

  “It’s a father-daughter event,” she explained.

  “I can do that,” Matt said to Emily. “We’ll race together. And I bet we can win.”

  Emily’s tears disappeared. She hugged Matt, broke away and scanned his face. “You won’t forget?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  Her happiness restored, Emily skipped ahead of them again.

  “Thank you,” Becca said.

  “She’s a great kid. Too bad she doesn’t live in California.”

  “So you could see her more often?”

  “So she wouldn’t feel like she needs a daddy,” Matt observed. He nodded toward the crowd on the grounds. “Here, traditional family values are alive and well. Everywhere I look I see a mother, father, and two-point-five children. In southern California, nuclear families are anything from two guys or two gals to a single mother with kids, or a young professional couple with dogs.”

  “I like a traditional family,” Becca admitted, “and I missed being part of one when I was growing up.”

  “Then maybe you should find Emily a daddy,” Matt said in the same casual tone he’d used earlier.

  “What should I do?” Becca replied, keeping her voice light to hide her annoyance. “Advertise in the personal section of the Asheville paper? After all, I don’t meet any eligible men in my line of work.”

  “Aren’t there male teachers at your school?”

  Becca laughed. “I’m the only teacher at my school.”

  Matt gazed at her in disbelief.

  “It’s true,” Becca insisted. “I teach in a one-room schoolhouse that’s over a hundred and fifty years old. I have sixteen students, grades kindergarten through five. When the students reach sixth grade, they’re bussed to the school in town.”

  Matt shook his head. “You are living in a time warp.”

  “I love it,” Becca insisted. “And the best part is that I can take Emily to work with me. She’s part of the preschool class.”

  “No single men living on Warwick Mountain?” To Becca’s discomfort, Matt had returned to his earlier topic.

  “Young people here either marry and settle down right out of high school or head for the towns and cities. Life’s hard on the mountain. Many can’t wait to escape.”

  “Why not you?”

  “Marry and settle down?”

  “Escape,” Matt clarified.

  “Been there, done that. Made me realize that this is the life I want for Emily and me.” She relaxed, grateful Matt had finally abandoned trying to locate a husband for her.

  “What about widowers?” he asked, returning to his original topic like a dog to a bone.

  “What about them?”

  “Any here that might make good husbands?”

  Becca arched an eyebrow. “How come you’re so interested in marrying me off?”

  “If I can’t practice medicine,” he said with a killer smile, “I have to do something useful.”

  “Widowers,” Becca said thoughtfully, playing along. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Jamison is the most eligible widower on the mountain. Owns more land than the rest of us combined. Been looking for a good wife for years.”

  To Becca’s delight, a scowl flashed over Matt’s face before he managed to hide it. “Fond of this Mr. Jamison, are you?”

  “Yes, I am.” That was no lie. She’d adored the man all her life.

  “Thought about marrying him?” Matt’s question was so offhand, it was funny.

  Becca held back a smile. “I’m not qualified.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Matt said with enough feeling to make her tingle. “You have everything a man would want in a wife.”

  Her spirits soared at his praise, but she shook her head. “Not Mr. Jamison.”

  “Then he’s an idiot,” Matt said hotly.

  “No, he’s not,” Becca said with a laugh. “He’s ninety-nine years old and just moved into an Asheville assisted-living facility. The man needs a nurse not a wife. I’m definitely not qualified.”

  Matt’s expression was rueful. “You’ve made your point.”

  “Which is?”

  “That’ll teach me to stick my nose in other people’s business.”

  “Just help Emily win the three-legged race and you’re forgiven,” Becca said.

  They’d reached the church grounds. Crepe-paper banners of red, white and blue were strung between the trees and around the bandstand. On tables under the long covered shelters built for outdoor dinners, women were unloading baskets and coolers. Children and even a few dogs chased each other through the throng of people. On the other side of the church at the athletics field, a group of young boys had lined up. At the bandstand, Art Ledbetter announced the beginning of the foot race, his loud voice tinny and crackling over the ancient sound system.

  “Rebecca!”

  Becca turned at her aunt’s voice calling her name, and Matt halted beside her. Delilah rushed toward them from the food tables, her sister-in-law, Lydia, in tow, moving with amazing speed and agility for a woman they’d last seen bedridden.

  “It’s a miracle!” Delilah declared when she reached them. “A godsend! Dr. Tyler, you’ve put Lydia back on her feet.”

  Jake’s gray-haired sister beamed at them. “I’d be dancing today—” Her expression soured. “Except Jake’s such a strict Baptist, he doesn’t hold to it.”

  “The antibiotics worked.” Matt’s pleasure at Lydia’s recovery was obvious.

  “They sure did,” Lydia said. “Now that I can take care of myself, I’m itching to go home. I have a hundred and one things demanding my attention.”

  “You’ll never know how much I appreciate what you’ve done,” Delilah said, then quickly added, “I couldn’t bear to witness Lydia in such pain any longer.”

  “Just doing my job,” Matt said. “Wish others would take advantage of that while I’m here.”

  “They will,” Lydia said. “I intend to tell everyone I see today how you’ve helped me.”

  The women walked to the tables with them, and Matt deposited Becca’s cooler and basket onto the nearest empty space. She was in the midst of unloading them when she realized he was no longer at her side. She shrugged, figuring he’d slipped away to begin meeting folks, when Art Ledbetter’s voice blasted from the public-address system again.

  “Listen up, folks,” her neighbor announced. “I got Dr. Tyler up here with me, and he wants to say a few words.”

  Becca felt her knees give way, and she sank onto the nearest bench.

  She had no idea what Matt was about to say, but whatever it was, she wished he’d cleared it with her first. She watched as Matt stepped to the edge of the bandstand, took the mike and cleared his throat.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt stared at the sea of upturned faces that surrounded the bandstand and wondered whether his spur-of-the-moment inspiration was a good idea. But with everyone’s attention riveted on him, there was no backing out now.

  He glanced toward the picnic area where Becca watched him, her worry visible even from a distance. He recognized other people in the group—the McClains, the Dickenses, Bobbie Jo from the Shop-N-Go, and Jake Bennett, standing with a bunch of his fr
iends who’d been admiring someone’s coon-hound puppies in a kennel in the back of a battered pickup truck.

  Three teenage girls edged closer to the bandstand and studied him, exchanging giggling comments behind their hands.

  Now or never, Matt thought, took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Hello, everyone. I’m Dr. Matthew Tyler, and if I haven’t met you already, I hope to meet you today. But first I want to bring you greetings from Dr. Peyseur and to offer his apologies for not being here this summer as he’d promised. He can’t perform surgery now with his broken wrist, but he’s asked me to assure you that his wrist will mend and he’ll be here next year.”

  A murmur of sympathy went through the crowd, testimony to Dwight’s high standing in this tightly knit community. Matt wondered briefly how the old man had managed to bridge the barriers, then returned to his speech.

  “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Dr. Peyseur’s partner, and he’s asked me to fill in for him this summer.”

  Another murmur rippled through the crowd, and Matt could only imagine what people might be saying.

  “At the request of Ms. Warwick, your schoolteacher,” he said, “I’ve refurbished the old feed store, which will serve as a clinic. I’ve had a phone installed—” Matt recited the number slowly, then repeated it. “So if you need medical care, you can either drop in at the clinic or call for an appointment.”

  He noticed that no one had bothered to write down the phone number.

  “I look forward to talking with each of you today.” With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Matt handed the microphone back to Art Ledbetter. He’d only wasted his time and possibly made a fool of himself by his public plea. The crowd stood stone-faced.

  Until a faint sound from the picnic tables carried across the grounds.

  Applause!

  Matt glanced to where Becca sat. She wasn’t clapping, merely looking as stunned as he felt. His gaze swept to the left of her where Delilah and Lydia were beating their hands together like wild women.

  A noise to the front of the bandstand joined with their applause. Directly before him, Emily, Jimmy and Lizzie were clapping like crazy and cheering at the top of their lungs.

  “Welcome, Dr. Tyler!” Jake Bennett hollered from over by the pickup truck.

  A smattering of polite applause then traveled through the crowd. Feeling slightly less humiliated, Matt jumped from the bandstand and headed toward Becca.

  With a few notable exceptions, his reception had been chilly, but it was a start.

  Becca walked to meet him. “I almost had a heart attack, wondering what you were going to say when I saw you take the mike.”

  “Fools rush in,” he admitted. “I decided I didn’t have anything to lose and might even gain a few patients by making a public intro. I wasn’t exactly a rousing success.”

  “Displayed your courage,” Becca noted.

  “Or my arrogance, depending on how it’s interpreted.”

  “We’ll find out,” Becca said. “Come on. I’ll show you around and introduce you.”

  A blur of names and faces filled the next hour as Becca helped him work the crowd. The adults were courteous and respectful, and the children, especially the younger ones who were obviously smitten by their teacher, were friendly, but Matt couldn’t help noticing the reserve among the grown-ups.

  “Thanks for filling in for Doc Peyseur,” Lloyd Pennington, an elderly farmer said, not unkindly, but he asked for neither advice nor an appointment for treatment of his visibly painful rheumatoid arthritis.

  As the old man hobbled away, Matt turned to Becca. “Anywhere we can escape to?”

  “Escape?”

  “If I have to shake another hand or smile at another person who obviously disapproves of me, I won’t be responsible for my reactions,” Matt said through gritted teeth.

  Becca’s expression was sympathetic. “I know just the place. Follow me.”

  She called to Emily to stay with Aunt Deliah, then she and Matt threaded their way through the crowd, crossed a wide expanse of green, skirted the edge of a cemetery, filled with ancient headstones, that rose on a hill beside the church, crossed a playing field of hard-packed dirt and entered a grove of mature hickory trees. When they exited the other side of the grove, they crossed a field to reach what appeared to be an old rock quarry. Matt stepped to the edge, looked down and saw deep blue water sparkling twenty feet below.

  “This must make a great swimming hole,” he observed.

  Becca tramped down a portion of the high grass on the quarry’s edge and sat down. Matt sank beside her, legs stretched before him, his face turned upward to the sun and breeze. The spot was a paradise. An open field of wildflowers bordered the quarry, gentle folds of mountains rose behind it, and the air that filled his lungs was invigoratingly fresh and crisp. High clouds did little to mask the brilliant blue of the sky. Even though it was the middle of summer, the breeze held a refreshing coolness.

  “No swimming,” Becca said. “Kids are forbidden to come back here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because none of them knows how to swim.”

  For Matt, who’d swum every day in the Pacific for the past ten years, the inability to swim was inconceivable. “Why don’t they learn?”

  “Primarily they don’t have time. Farmers’ children work the land most of the summer. Also, there’s little need for them to know how to swim. Most of the water around here is in creeks, not deep enough for swimming.”

  “What about this place?”

  “Too dangerous. Too deep. And with the steep quarry walls, there’s no easy access, even if the kids could swim. Every parent makes it off limits.”

  Matt glanced around, noting signs of recent visitors in the trampled grass. “Somebody comes here.”

  Becca smiled. “The older teenagers sometimes come here after dark. Without their parents’ knowledge or permission, of course.”

  Matt studied the woman beside him, lying back on her elbows, her face turned to the sun, eyes closed, honey-colored hair stirred by the breeze, and fantasized lying next to her here in the moonlight. The prospect caused an ache in his groin and a quickening in his pulse. “Did you ever come here?”

  He was suddenly and unaccountably jealous of any teenage boy in her past.

  Becca opened her eyes wide. “Are you kidding? Granny would have skinned me alive.”

  “So you’ve never been kissed here before?”

  Her lips parted slightly, her cheeks reddened, but her gaze held his. “Never.”

  “Then it’s about time.”

  He lowered his head and crushed his lips to hers, slowly savoring the honeyed taste of her, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance, sweeter than the wildflowers that surrounded them. Cupping her face in his hands, he reveled in the smoothness of her skin, her warmth, and the immense satisfaction of connecting with a woman he not only desired but admired and respected.

  Respected too much to risk her reputation by kissing her in broad daylight where anyone might see.

  Reluctantly, he drew back. Her green eyes gazed at him, puzzled.

  “You mustn’t think that I wanted to stop,” he said.

  “Then why did you?” Her voice was husky, and a vein pulsed beneath the delicate skin of her throat, making him wonder the same thing. He wanted to keep kissing her until the stars fell out of the sky.

  “I remembered that tricky little clause in your teaching contract. The one on moral turpitude.” He smiled and traced her lip with his finger until she smiled in return. “If I were a kid, and my favorite teacher showed up with a strange man at a picnic, you know what I’d do?”

  She shook her head, her lips brushing his finger, sending currents of pleasure through him.

  “I’d follow them,” Matt said, “to find out what they were doing.”

  “Oh, lordy.” Becca sat bolt upright, ran her fingers through her hair, then gazed over her shoulder toward the woods with a worried scowl. “Did you see anyone?�
��

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t mean no one was there. These little devils are skilled hunters, woodsmen. They could be watching us now and we wouldn’t know.”

  “Next time I kiss you,” he said, “I’ll choose a more private place.”

  “There won’t be a next time.” Her words were sharp, final.

  “There’s always a next time,” he insisted.

  “Not for us.”

  “Why not? We’re both adults.”

  “But why kid ourselves? There’s no future for us. You’re going back to California. I’m staying here.”

  “Why does there have to be a future?” he asked. “Didn’t you enjoy kissing me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then we’ll kiss again, just for the fun of it.”

  She shook her head, her frustration clear. “Don’t you understand? If there’s no future in it, if it doesn’t lead to more, it ceases to be fun.”

  “What do you mean by more? Sex?”

  “No!” She pressed her lips together tightly. “Well, yes, but—”

  “But you look at sex as a lifetime commitment,” he said softly, remembering all she’d told him about mountain values.

  “It should be. That’s what I was taught.”

  Matt plucked a blade of sweet grass to chew, leaned back on his elbows and gazed across the deep blue of the water that filled the quarry. He didn’t understand Becca’s point of view, but he respected it. Respected her. More than any woman he’d ever met.

  With a twinge of discomfort, he realized his unnamed dissatisfaction had returned. It had disappeared during the time he was building the clinic. Either that or he’d been too busy to notice it was still there, but now his discontent had reappeared with a vengeance.

  It couldn’t be sexual frustration. He’d suffered the same uncomfortable feelings in California when he’d had his pick of beautiful partners. He’d hoped a break from the rigors of his practice, even if he’d missed his South Pacific cruise, would ease his discomfort, but nothing so far had worked.

  What the hell was bugging him?

  “I’m sorry if my beliefs offend you,” Becca said.