Cade walked outside under a young oak tree. The shade and play of shadows and sunshine pleased Daisy, and she began to coo.
“What are you saying, huh?” Cade asked. Daisy looked at him as if she was just realizing someone other than Rose was holding her. Without warning, she sunk her fingers into his cheeks grabbing his flesh.
Cade’s eyes widened. “That is a strong grip little one.”
Daisy did not let go; instead she clutched harder, laughing as he crossed his eyes.
“And quite the attitude,” he laughed, peeling off her little fingers. She reluctantly let go and was soon distracted by a chirping sparrow.
Cade inhaled deeply; his blood had slowed when Rose spoke. He tried listening, really listening. He had never done that before in their marriage, and he understood why: it hurt. It hurt to hear the truth, to see his wife’s disappointment. To know why she did not want his touch, his support, or anything to do with him.
Cade looked up at the dancing shadows and sunlight among the leaves. “Lord,” he said softly, embarrassed that someone, even God Himself, might hear. “I don’t know how exactly I get to know you. Jeffries says I need to ask you why I started gambling. My wife says that Christ can heal me. I suppose I have a lot to say, but … well, I guess I am asking for you to help me. Whether it is knowing Christ, having discipline, or figuring out what I need to do with my life. Just, help me. Please.”
Daisy giggled at something and Cade looked at her pale green eyes. Such a beautiful girl: so small, so unaware of the trials that would face her. She did not feel as if she was his child yet, but it was clear that she was now Rose’s child, and therefore his responsibility. If he couldn’t protect her, who would? And if he could not help himself, how could he help her? “Please,” he whispered. “Please! Help me.”
/
Meg felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore. Her skin was cold and her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst out of her chest. “It is just shadows,” she told herself, “nothing more.” She had felt strange the last few days, although Meg couldn’t exactly put a finger on it or even describe the constant goose bumps on her skin. It was just a feeling, a feeling of being watched. Wiping away the moisture from her neck, she suddenly heard Charles in her mind.
/
“Such a pretty neck.” Charles slid his thumb down her throat cupping the nape of her neck with his large fingers. “The female neck is so delicate, so fragile under the wrong hands.”
Meg glared and shoved the hand away. “You disgust me,” she spat, tensing her body. She would not allow him to see her shake. He wanted her afraid, wanted to see her tremble under his touch.
He lifted his hand faster than a blink, and his grip tightened around her neck. “Do you want to feel how fragile your neck is? Feel the little bones break?”
“You need me too much,” Meg croaked under his grip. “This hotel is known for its cuisine. If I die, or leave, your hotel fails.”
An amused smile spread across his lips. “Leave?” He barked out a laugh. “Oh my, dear Meg, were you to leave you would not last.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “I would make sure of that.”
Meg closed her eyes. Don’t do it, don’t. He was stronger, and so much bigger. He would hurt her as he always did. Don’t do it!
Ignoring every demand she gave herself, Meg, with all her might, shoved her knee up while pulling his torso down. She was not quite sure where her knee made contact, but she knew Charles cried out and released his grip. Meg ran for the door, but not fast enough before her hair was grabbed and yanked back.
/
“Mama Meg,” it was Bill tugging at her shirt. “You alright?”
Meg nodded, forcing the memory out of her head. “Yes, Bill, I am alright. Did you fellas start the muffins?”
He nodded. “We wanted to know if you needed some hot cocoa. You have been looking mighty sad, and we thought it would help.”
Meg smiled walking over to Bill and linking arms with him. “Hot cocoa is just what I need, Bill, thank you.”
Bill proudly led her to the warm kitchen that perpetually smelled like bacon and hot bread.
“Is it true Doctor McPherson is coming today?” Frank asked, turning the butter tray so it was straight. “You told us on Sunday that he was.”
Meg bit her bottom lip and shrugged.
“I like Doctor McPherson,” said Frank. “He helped me when I had an earache and gave me a piece of candy, too.”
Meg chuckled softly. She could only imagine how excited Frank would be for a piece of candy.
“I remember the girl he loved so much. She used to deliver babies.”
Meg nearly dropped the strips of dough for a lattice over a cherry pie. “Girl?”
Frank nodded. “Real pretty girl and very nice with a little boy who was always with her.”
Meg’s lips parted. “Oh,” she said disingenuously. She glanced at the shiny metal pan near her. Brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin, brown freckles. She looked away—it was silly to worry about frivolous things, wasn’t it?
Luckily the workers began pouring in and for an hour Meg was busy serving coffee and flopping down fried potato cakes with hot gravy and chunks of ham with honey glaze. She was grateful for the boisterous noises and Jeffries’s smooth voice as he laid out instructions for the day.
“I need some more vegetables, boys. Would you mind going to the garden and filling up the vegetable baskets for me?” She sighed when they just stood there. “You two will be fine without me.”
“But you always go to the garden with us,” Bill said with confusion.
Meg bit her lip, trying to figure out a way of encouraging them to be a bit more independent without offending their tender feelings. “You are right Bill, and I love picking berries and pulling out vegetables with you two, but let’s see if you two can do it alone every now and then. One day I may be sick, or sprain an ankle and you two will be the head chef’s for a day or maybe a week.”
“You are going to get sick?” Frank did not like that thought.
“No!” Meg walked over to them. “I do not plan on getting sick, but you two are very talented and very smart. So I know you can do this alone. If you need help, all you have to do is come get me. Alright?”
That seemed to reassure them, and they left, albeit reluctantly. Meg was left alone to knead dough for rolls that she was serving with a chunky vegetable stew. She said a little prayer, for the twins, the dead bird, for Rose and Daisy, for herself. She liked praying now. It was like lancing a boil. Doubts and fears could be expressed to someone who cared more about her than she did herself.
A soft tap on the door was followed by Rose’s cheerful face peeking over the oak panel. “Knock, knock,” she grinned.
Meg wiped off her hands and ran over. “How are you? Have you bludgeoned your husband yet?” she teased.
Rose rolled her eyes and embraced Meg. “No, not yet,” she pulled back and shrugged. “He’s been with Sheriff Ben since yesterday afternoon. I saw him briefly before that when he was working on a fence, and then he was back with the sheriff again.”
“Where is Daisy?”
“With my mother who claims a few weeks of seeing Daisy every day has made one day’s absence feel like an eternity,” Rose laughed. “Besides, I love holding that bundle of sweetness, but my arms are killing me.”
Meg nodded to the table, “Are you going out with your mother and me later this afternoon?”
Rose shook her head. “I would love to, but I am feeling the need to fix up my new home. Right now my life feels so disorganized and chaotic. I need order in the house.” She shrugged again and forced a bright smile. “Besides, you may want me away so you can enjoy the company of someone else?” Rose winked.
Meg shook her head. “I doubt he’ll come. If he does, it will be to see you.”
“I doubt it. And remember, I am a married woman.” Rose held up her wedding ring with an emphasized frown.
Meg shot her a compassionate smile. “Do you realize that most girls groan over not being married and here we are moaning over a marriage?”
Rose nodded. “True. Although I would think that every woman at one time looks at her marriage and is disappointed that it is not perfect.”
“Do you think women demand too much perfection?” Meg asked. “Not that you did, but in general?”
“I know what you mean.” Rose began gliding her finger in slow circles on the table. “I think as human beings we intrinsically want perfection because God is perfect and we are His children. As such, we experience disappointment because we are not perfect and cannot be perfect. Still, we crave it.”
Meg nodded and checked the rising bread, her cheeks slightly sucked in. Rose tilted her head, her finger pausing on the table. “What are you thinking, Meg?”
The cook gave a nonchalant frown. “Oh, nothing important. It is just … I still jump at any sudden noise. I can’t help thinking Charles Lars is waiting to pounce. I see his face most nights. I pray that those dreams will go away, but his presence is still so strong that … I know it is silly, but it feels like he is here.”
“Let me talk to Jeffries and have him pay close attention to anything odd around the dairy, any extra person or sign of such. I don’t know if that will help reassure you, but it couldn’t hurt.”
Meg sighed. “Do you think I am crazy? For still being afraid of him?”
Rose stood up, “All it shows is that you have a good head on your shoulders. Any person who was constantly beaten by someone will naturally be afraid.”
Meg looked down at her shoes. “But I still don’t know the reason why I stayed when I was so miserable. I told myself it was because I had no other choice, but I also wonder if I was simply too scared.”
“I do not believe you to be paralyzed out of fear. If you stayed it meant that it was your only option at that point.”
Meg looked doubtful and Rose gripped her hand. “Listen Meg, you were completely willing to escape that hotel when I offered you a position here. Had you left the hotel before then, who knows what would have happened? Trust me, you are not a scared, timid girl, but rather the complete opposite.”
Meg looked up at the faint knock on the door. To both her delight and surprise, Jonathan McPherson came in holding a bouquet of wildflowers. He grinned at Meg and walked through the doorway.
“If I say these are for you,” he addressed Meg, “you promise not to slap me?”
Rose suppressed a laugh when Meg turned beet red. “Meg, dear,” Rose tossed her a wink, “I am going to find Jeffries.” She looked over at the doctor. “Jonathan,” she said in simple greeting.
He nodded, “Rose.” Holding the door open for her, he took his eyes briefly away from Meg who quickly pinched her cheeks and prayed she did not smell like soapy water.
“You may regret giving me flowers after I teach you today. I am not my friendliest or most compassionate when it comes to cooking.”
The doctor laughed and walked forward holding out the flowers. Meg took them, wondering if she was supposed to smell them, kiss him on the cheek, or thank him again.
“I love wildflowers,” she said. “Do you often give wildflowers to others?” A transparent question she instantly regretted. Of course she wanted to know if this doctor enjoyed flirting and giving little romantic mementos to other women, but she did not have to express it so boldly.
The doctor seemed pleased with the question. “Would you be upset if I did?”
Meg shrugged. “It is no matter to me,” she smiled and went to place the flowers in a pitcher, missing the downcast expression on Jonathan’s face.
He swept his eyes over one of the counters. “That is a lot of dough.”
Meg looked over. “I need to put those in the oven right now, actually. They are for the coal miner’s clinic in the mountains. I do not have time to visit, so the least I can do is send you off with bread and cookies.”
Jonathan walked over to where Meg was standing on her tiptoes reaching for a pitcher. He touched her arm, lowering it, then took down the pitcher himself and held it in front of him, looking at Meg curiously.
Close. He was so close. His torso nearly touched her own. She could see the individual black eyelashes around his dark eyes and feel the warmth of his skin.
“Tell me, Miss Meg,” he said slowly, “do you often make bread for other men?”
Meg’s heart stopped. He was turning her own question on her. Not only that but he had tilted his head, lowering it so he was inches away from her mouth. She looked at his lips: soft, pleasing. His sheer presence pulled her in, and she did not want to resist. She wanted to feel the exhilaration of having his mouth on her own; she wanted to be pressed so tightly in his arms that her breath stopped while her heart beat fiercely against his own.
“Well, Miss Meg?” he asked again.
Meg swallowed and took a step back. She could play his game. “Would you be upset if I did?” she grinned. She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t.“Very,” he replied. “I would feel undesired.” He paused, his face still, waiting for a reaction.
Meg took another step back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Forcing a smile, and an absurd giggle, she said, “You are such a tease.”
Jonathan looked disappointed. The corner of his lips pulled up briefly, but did not extend to his eyes. “So what are you teaching me today?”
“Eggs to start with.” Meg nodded for him to follow her to the stove. “When people want to learn cooking, they always want to start out with something impressive and fancy. They don’t realize that before soufflés and braised meats you should at least learn how to make a decent egg.”
“Medical school was similar. Students were eager to learn surgery before knowing how to prescribe a remedy for a simple cough.”
Meg pulled out two eggs and some salt. “What made you decide to become a doctor?”
Jonathan took one of the eggs Meg offered. “My mother and father always encouraged it. My mother was studying to be a nurse when she met my father. He runs a flour mill on the border of the valley. She loved being a mother, but I think she always hungered a bit for the medical education she never finished. My eldest brother is a surgeon in Los Angeles.” A melancholy smile passed his lips, “My parents miss him terribly, especially my father, which is another reason why I left New York. I could not do the same to them.”
Meg nodded. “Crack the egg gently, then slowly pull back the shell and let the yolk drop into a perfect circle by holding it close over the skillet.”
Jonathan did as instructed, and Meg nodded approvingly. “Do you ever regret being a doctor?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a minute. I love it, especially with all the advances being made. It really is miraculous.”
Meg handed him something that looked like a large flat spoon. “Don’t rush the egg. We let it cook slowly. I’ll tell you when to flip it.”
“What about you?” Jonathan asked. “When did you know you wanted to be a cook?”
She shrugged, her eyes darkening slightly. “Cooking chose me. I was always good at it. I learned to read by reading recipes.”
Casually, Jonathan said, “So did you like working at the Red Bear?”
“When my mother ran it, but after my father left I—” she stopped, her face motionless as she realized what she had revealed. “You remember me,” she said too softly. It was not a question.
Jonathan grinned sheepishly. “Well, you are a hard woman to forget. Either that, or the doughnuts were hard to forget. I haven’t decided.”
She smiled at the joke and forced a shrug. “I’m sorry that I was untruthful. I was embarrassed at my behavior.” And you have no idea what I went through, why I am not the untouched princess that you deserve.
Jonathan leaned on the counter. “Why? For being kind? For making me forget my troubles for a moment?” He was leaning on his elbows and Meg could not help but notice lean muscles strain against the cotton of his sleeves.
She cleared her throat, feeling warm. “For being forward.” She was not about to tell him the things that Charles Lars tried, the words that were said to her, the hands she had to slap away over and over.
He grinned. “How were you forward? I mean, if you were just being kind then there is nothing to be ashamed about. Unless, you were being more than kind.” He pressed almost as a teasing taunt.Meg blushed. He was enjoying this, and so was she. “For flirting with you,” Meg exclaimed stamping her foot. “There, I said it. I flirted with you.”
Jonathan laughed a rich, deep laugh that radiated through the air. “I knew it. You thought I was handsome.”
Meg shook her head wanting to die. “I—”
“You made me doughnuts because you needed an excuse to look into my eyes and see if I was as dashing as you thought.”
Meg wanted to disappear. “That is not true.” She tried to look angry but a stupid smile appeared on her face instead. Jonathan shook his head, “You thought I was a fine specimen of a man,” he chanted.
If it were possible to melt with blushing, Meg knew she would be a puddle right now. She raised an egg threateningly. “One more word and I will show you another good use for an egg.”
Jonathan stopped laughing and took a step forward. His long fingers closed around her hand, the egg, all of it. Meg felt her heart stop as he lowered her threatening gesture. Keeping his fingers clasped around hers, he said, “I came back, you know. I asked where you were. I said I was looking for the beautiful girl with the golden eyes.”
Meg’s lips parted, her eyes flickering to his mouth. So soft, so welcoming. “Beautiful?” Her voice was hoarse. Oh he was close, and why did she not realize before how tall he was? His hand completely enclosed hers and she imagined his body could wrap around her without a lot of effort—and without a lot of protest on her part. Meg told herself to step back, but the need for touch kept her in place. The pulse in Jonathan’s wrist began to race against her own, beating against each other in frantic unison.
He cocked his head. “You know that, right? That you are beautiful? No—more than that, you are enchanting.”
Meg swallowed. Kiss me. Hold me. Let me know what it feels like to be wanted, to be touched with tenderness.
The cooking egg popped and Meg quickly pulled back. She reached up to wipe a glistening drop of perspiration on her brow. “You just like to see me blush,” she teased. “Remove the egg and we will start another one since we are burning this one.” Of course, that’s not the only thing burning up.
Jonathan sighed, looking exasperated. “I’m sorry, you know.”
“For making me blush? You should be.”
“No, I mean, I should have noticed the signs. Had I not been so entranced by your beauty, I would have noticed that someone was hurting you. I should have saved you.”
Meg’s eyes moistened. She looked away before he could see. Save her? When one man deserted her, the next one abused her. She was not the type to inspire devotion and love. Yet here was a good man, a darn handsome man wishing that he could have saved her. “I should have saved myself.” she muttered to herself. “But I was too weak … too scared.” Meg quickly jerked her head towards the eggs Jonathan had started cracking. “And I don’t know how you became a doctor with such clumsy hands; you are murdering the eggs.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes, your hands are murdering the eggs.”
Jonathan sighed in frustration, “No, the other thing. You think yourself weak?”
Meg shrugged, taking the pan off the stove and handing Jonathan another one, indicating that he begin again. “You sound like Rose. She does not think me so, either. I am not trying to be a martyr, but I don’t know why I stayed. It would have been risky leaving—a single woman with no significant education—but it was dangerous to stay. There were so many times that Mr. Lars would come so close to taking advantage of—” Meg stopped. She had said too much. She was starting to feel safe with Jonathan, safe in his affections, and that made her want to open up in every way without realizing it. She slid her eyes over to the doctor, hoping he had not caught onto her words.
That was not the case. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched. “What did that wretched man do to you?” he asked, his voice surprisingly tender.
“Nothing.” Meg said quickly. She turned away with an ache in her chest. What had she done? If he knew what kind of actions were attempted then … then she would no longer be the golden-eyed cook, but rather a soiled rag.
“Meg.” His voice was soft. Setting down the pan of eggs he stood behind her and rested his hand on her arms. “Meg, I will not judge you. What I feel for you is admiration and respect and nothing can alter that. I want to know; I want to know everything about you. Then, I want you to tell me what to do, whether it is just to listen, or to talk to you.” He leaned down his head a little lower, his lips grazing her ear and sending shivers up Meg’s spine. “Or perhaps to go and have a not so polite word with Mr. Lars.”
Meg forced out a laugh, wondering if he knew what his words meant to her. Having experienced both cowardly abandonment and aggressive abuse, she needed what Jonathan had just given to her. She needed his gentle and kind support. He was not the kind to run off with guns blazing, but she did not want that. She’d had enough men try to show off their masculine strength, and it disturbed her. Yet she did not want a man to run off when things got hard, or uncomfortable. She needed Jonathan, an honest man who would listen, really listen and then give the choice to her as to what she needed, wanted.
“He never succeeded.” Meg said quietly, grateful that Jonathan kept his reassuring grip on her arms. “He liked the chase and so he allowed me to fight back, but with each year he tried harder. He touched more, would spout crass vulgarity, and tell me what he fantasized about doing to me. His acquaintances would do the same until Charles found out and then he would explain that I was his. Somehow that did not make things better; it only encouraged these pompous men and made me feel more like an object.” She swallowed and slid from his grasp to turn and face him. “So you see, Doctor. I am not like your perfect midwife who you loved. I am no lady who blushes at a flirtatious comment. I have slapped away more hands then you know; my skirts have been torn, my face has been bruised, and my virtue has only remained intact because my abuser was biding his time so that he could prolong the game.” She blinked rapidly, praying that tears would not come. “I am not right for you. I know my worth and I am not saying that I am below you in anyway, but we come from two completely different worlds. You are not jaded, nor roughened and calloused by the world, and I fear that I am.” She bit her lip waiting for reply, or waiting for him to just leave now that he knew what she was.
“Meg,” he said softly. “I did not think I could admire you anymore than I already did, but I was wrong. You are,” he let out a disbelieving sigh, “you are my hero.”
Meg’s brows lifted. That certainly was not the answer she expected. “Your hero?” she repeated.
“How did you survive all that? How did you put up with the disappointment and hardship that was thrown at you and still—” he waved a hand in the air, “still think about making cookies for poor children, still smile, still care, still build up others as you have done the twins.” He ran a hand through his dark curls and Meg had the sudden urge to caress those midnight locks between her fingers. Were they soft? What would his reaction be were she to entwine her fingers in his hair and pull him forward into a passionate kiss? Would he respond? Would his heart beat wildly in hunger for more?
“Meg.” He pinned her with his eyes silently pleading that she’d understand his words. “If anything, I do not feel worthy of you. My struggles have been merely working hard as a youth and feeling intimidated by my older brother, they have been nothing to what you have endured. The question is how can I deserve you? Because in truth, I don’t.”
Meg wanted to step forward. She wanted to close the small gap between them. She wanted to answer his question by tracing his jaw with her finger, then whispering in his ear what she felt towards him. She wanted to be the one to touch, to kiss, to suggest—to be free and uninhibited in her love for him. Yes, it was love! She knew it was because for so long she had lived without it. This was not just physical attraction, she’d seen that. It was not naïve infatuation—she was not the kind to have such a thing. This was the love that inspired one to share a life.
Jonathan held very still, as if sensing what she was thinking of doing, when all the sudden he let out a yelp. Smoke bellowed behind him.
“You set them on the stove?” Meg exclaimed, shoving him aside to remove the burned eggs.
“I just set them down. I didn’t think—”
He was interrupted by Meg’s laughter as she cleaned out the charred eggs. “I think, Doctor, that you may have bad luck with eggs. Perhaps we should try something else.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I think you may be right. Do you ever have bad luck? With cooking I mean?”
Meg pondered for a second before shaking her head. “Now, let’s just try a simple soup.” She pointed to a basket set up high. “Can you reach that for me?”
“Of course.” He reached up stretching his arms to retrieve the basket. Feeling that Meg was watching, he looked over to find her staring at him admiringly. “Miss Meg, did you ask me to reach this so you could further admire my physique?”
“Why Doctor McPherson, what a scandalous mind you have.”
He chuckled and handed her the basket. “Tell me, if you could have chosen any occupation, would it still have been a cook?”
Meg nodded. “I truly do love cooking. What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor regardless of what your parents wanted?”
“You know, originally I had thought about being a medical examiner. I have always liked a good mystery, and often it is the medical examiner who figures out the truth of a crime before a detective. However, I realized I preferred working with the living,” he said.
“Well, seeing how you butchered the eggs I am surprised the living still trust you to work on them,” she teased.
“I wouldn’t have butchered the eggs if you weren’t so mesmerizing. In other words Miss Meg, you are to blame for those poor eggs.”
She shrugged and pulled some potatoes out of the basket. “Cheese and potato soup is the best when one has fresh cream and cheese.” She handed him a potato. “Considering that we are on a dairy, it is almost fool proof.”
“I am assuming you want me to peel these?”
Meg looked doubtful. “If you can manage that?”
“Oh I may not be good with eggs, but I know my way around a knife … well, a scalpel more like it. Not to mention that peeling potatoes was one of my designated chores growing up.”
Meg bent down to pull out a knife from a drawer. “That may be true, but I am still going to show you. You can’t have any peeling in the soup because it will thwart the texture. So much of our enjoyment with food deals with the texture of it.” Meg began peeling the potato at an incredibly fast pace. Jonathan’s brows lifted in surprise. “You don’t have to do it this fast,” she smiled, “but try to do downward strokes.”
Jonathan chuckled. “I don’t think I would trust you with a scalpel, Miss Meg. You perform an operation with that pace on tender flesh and—” he shuddered.
“Well a potato is quite different than tender flesh.”
“True.” Jonathan suddenly positioned himself behind her and settled his hands on hers. Meg froze.
“What are you doing?” she asked as his right hand began guiding hers in smooth, slow strokes.
“Giving you a medical lesson,” he nearly whispered in her ear. “Some things are better to take your time with.” He slowly pressed on her hand guiding it to shave off one peel. “Not all things need to be rushed. Were this an operation, I would work softly—” Another slice. “Slowly.” Meg swallowed as his chest pressed against her back. “I would make sure that I did not hurt anything, that I treated every part with intense consideration.”
Meg was pretty sure she had stopped breathing. Her hands shook under his as her body melted against his own. “Ahh, I see. Were I to need … medical attention? Would you be as thorough, and thoughtful, as you are right now in peeling this potato?” She was not quite sure what she was asking, but she knew she wanted the answer.
“Ahh, Miss Meg.” He guided her into another slice. “I would make sure that you were completely satisfied with my performance.”
Meg pushed against him, escaping the tense proximity of his body. She placed a hand on her stomach in an attempt to sooth the nerves that were screaming for more.
“Yes, well … I think you obviously get the idea on how to peel potatoes.”
Jonathan eyed her curiously. “Are you afraid of me, Miss Meg?”
She tripped on her feet, grasping the counter to steady herself. “Excuse me? Why would I be scared of you?”
Jonathan looked hesitant. He took a small step then stopped. “You tell me?”
Meg’s eyebrow arched. “I can assure you Dr. McPherson that I am not afraid of you. I simply have work to do.”
She tried to turn away, but he touched her shoulder causing her to halt. “Meg, I need you to know that I care for you, and I wish to court you and win your affections—your love.” Meg’s eyes widened. He drew closer and cupped her face in his hands. She tried to catch her breath but failed. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to, so much that it hurt.
“I knew meeting you was serendipitous from the first time I saw you. When God gave me a second chance by sending you to Tall Pine, I felt my universe shift as my soul ached for you. You are my missing piece. The very one to complete my existence. I know what it is like to be afraid, to fear rejection, to fear exposing yourself only to be abandoned.” He drew his face closer to hers, his lips barely grazing her own. “But I am willing to take a chance, and I pray you have the courage to do so as well.”
Jonathan felt Meg lift onto her toes, her eyes closing as she allowed him to move closer, his lips barely touching hers.
She would kiss him!
Yes, she would!
Just as her lips began to part he pulled himself away, grinning as she opened her eyes and nearly tipped over. “I have a house call to make.
Meg glared. “Why … what was … what did you mean … why did you...”
He picked up his hat. “I didn’t become a doctor, Meg, by being a fool. I told you how I felt. The next move is yours. When you’re ready.” He walked over picking up the bag of bread they had wrapped in individual papers with string bows. “And by the way, call me Jonathan.”