Love In Bloom Read online

  Love In Bloom

  by

  Karen Rose Smith

  Published for Kindle by Karen Rose Smith

  Copyright 2011 Karen Rose Smith

  Original Copyright 1993 Karen Rose Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  www.karenrosesmith.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  The breeze blew Paige Conrad's chin-length brown hair across her cheek as she stood in the gravel lane beside her car. She couldn't take her eyes off the superbly built man cutting diagonal swipes across the wide lawn behind his home. He certainly didn't look as if he'd been in an accident.

  Perspiration molded his shirt to his body as he drove the riding mower. He wore the plaid cotton open down the front, and the material flew out behind him on the turns, teasing her with glimpses of a strong bronzed chest--

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a furry, smelly, black and tan animal leaped up and pushed Paige against the car. She didn't have time to scream as her hands came up to protect her face. Pictures flashed through her mind. Pictures of lions roaming the veld. Searching for their next meal. Her hands shook. Her whole body trembled. Her legs didn't feel as if they'd hold her up...

  A wet, sloppy tongue licked her chin. She took a breath. A lion would not be licking her face.

  "Shep! Down!"

  Paige peeped through her fingers.

  The dog's ears pricked up. With his paws still on her shoulders, he stopped licking and cocked his head toward the strong baritone.

  Afraid to move in case sudden motion would change the dog's friendliness to a nip or bite, Paige stood still and concentrated on her breathing as the buzz of the mower ceased and the voice came closer.

  "Now, Shep. Off of her."

  The dog moved aside and sat at Paige's feet. She closed her eyes again and took a final, deep, tremulous breath of relief.

  "Are you all right?"

  Paige thought she'd steadied her racing pulse. But at the sight before her, it galloped again. The flaps of Clayton Reynolds' shirt gaped open and a hard, muscular, hair-covered chest blocked her field of view. This was not the way she'd envisioned the two of them meeting.

  He backed up to offer her his hands and she realized she was still slumped against the car. Automatically she reached for his grip. He was as strong as he was tall. She felt heat and calluses and a strange sensation as she looked at him at close range.

  His black hair was shaggy and thick as if he had no interest in the latest cut. Yet it was inordinately attractive when paired with his firm jaw and high cheekbones. He looked rugged and capable of doing anything he tried, mowing down any obstacle in his way.

  Few men had ever made her take a second look. In the foreign countries where she'd traveled and worked with her parents, getting involved had been a cultural taboo. When she'd attended med school in the States, she'd been too busy to look or to care. Clayton Reynolds and his piercing green eyes demanded a second look, and a third.

  "Are you all right?" he repeated.

  She pulled in a bolstering breath and smelled fresh-mown lawn and man. "I'm fine. He just knocked the air out of me."

  "I'm sorry if he scared you. He's overly friendly but harmless. By the way, I'm Clay Reynolds." He released his hold on her.

  Her knees still wobbled a little from her scare. At least she assumed it was from the scare. "Paige Conrad. I'm taking over Doc Janssen's practice while he recuperates."

  The German shepherd suddenly flopped at her feet and rolled over so she could rub his stomach. She stooped, brushing the soft fur gently. Shep's paws spread farther apart. Paige laughed, a sound that surprised her. In Africa, there hadn't been much to laugh about.

  "He's getting what he wants already. He has a knack with women," Clay said with wry amusement.

  Paige's English boarding-school upbringing left her at a disadvantage, especially on a casual basis with American men. She'd discovered that fact in med school.

  Not knowing exactly how to respond to Clay's comment, she patted Shep's stomach, straightened, and pushed her hands into her jeans pockets. "Knock them over, then fall at their feet? That sounds like a tribal mating ritual."

  "Doc told me about you." Clay's eyes swept over her in an appraising male way. "He said you'd been out of the States for a few years. I didn't know you were a young doctor. You haven't been around when I've mown Doc's lawn."

  Paige felt embarrassed by Clay's perusal, though it was subtly appreciative rather than leering. She glanced toward his home, a two story farmhouse that looked many decades old, yet sturdy and well-kept. "Sometimes I get tied up in the office into the evening. Doc misses doing the yard work himself."

  Clay hooked his thumb through his belt loop. "He'll be back at it soon. Doc's a tough old bird. I predict he'll be tending his irises and entering his roses in the flower show at the end of the summer."

  Clay was the first person Paige had talked to who didn't think that Doc would be laid up for months. "I try to keep him from doing too much. That's important only two months after bypass surgery. But he'll be able to do more and more as weeks go by."

  Clay smiled again. "C'mon inside. I have iced tea in the fridge."

  "Iced tea sounds good." Paige was thankful Clay was friendly. That would make her request easier. She'd found mostly friendliness and welcome in Langley during the two months she'd been back in the States. Doc had always told her this part of Maryland was noted for it.

  As she passed the flower bed along the front porch, she stopped to take in a whiff of hyacinths. Bending, she reverently touched the petal of a daffodil. "This flower bed's beautiful. Those are candytuft in the front, aren't they?" The budding green border would soon be alive with lacy, snow-white flowers.

  "You know your flowers."

  She laughed again. "How can I know Doc and not know flowers? Actually since I've been here, I found out I really enjoy working in Doc's gardens. I planted the two gardens out front so they'll bloom summer and fall. There's something about digging in the earth and having the sun on my hair that's...soothing."

  Clay propped one booted foot on the first porch step and rested his hand on the white banister. "How long have you known Doc?"

  "Practically all my life. He and my dad were friends in med school. He's always been sort of a cross between an uncle and a grandfather." She wasn't here to discuss her background but to seek Clay's help with a patient. Taking another appreciative whiff of hyacinth, she said, "I love the beginning of May when gardens come alive."

  "Spring's a rebirth."

  He said it as if he'd experienced a rebirth himself. She looked into his steady green eyes and thought about her own need for renewal--her reason for coming to Langley.

  They entered the old farmhouse and cooler air greeted them from inside. The rooms looked freshly plastered and painted. Paige wondered if Clay had done the work himself.

  She followed him through the living room with its stone fireplace, patterned rugs, and tweedy blue furniture, to the large country kitchen. The oak cabinets and granite counter added to the warmth of the sunshine pouring in through the double windows over the sink.

  She ran her fingers over the back of one of the oak chairs sitting at a round pedestal table. "This is beautiful workmanship."

  "A fellow I know in Westminster makes them. All hand- crafted." Clay went to the refrigerator. He nodded to the cabinet over the counter tha
t divided the working area of the kitchen from the dining area. "Glasses are up there."

  Opening a stranger's cupboard didn't seem so strange. She was used to packing up, moving on, settling in a village for a short time, using whatever was at hand. She took two glasses and set them on the counter.

  As Clay poured the iced tea, his eyes met hers. Her heart skipped a beat. She took the glass he offered and sipped at it, forcing herself to concentrate on her reason for being here.

  Moving to the table, she sat down. Shep came over and lay down at her feet. "You're probably wondering why I'm here."

  "It's not just a friendly visit?" Clay's green eyes twinkled, setting her insides fluttering.

  Was he flirting with her? She smiled tentatively. "Not exactly. I came to ask a favor."

  "Does Doc need more help around the house? I know he has problems with that one rain gutter with all those trees close by--"

  She loved Doc's log home in the woods. "No, it's not Doc. I'm concerned about one of his patients, Ben Hockensmith."

  Clay showed no sign of recognition.

  "He was in an accident about five months ago. He was riding his bike along the highway when a car hit him."

  Clay's eyes lost their sparks of humor and became opaque. She couldn't tell if he'd heard about the accident or not. He folded his hands in front of him and waited for her to continue.

  "Ben's had a rough time of it. He's sixteen and was headed for a football scholarship. All that's changed. He's done with specialists except for physical therapy, so he's back in our care."

  "Yours and Doc's."

  "Yes. And physically, Ben's doing well. Thank God he wore a helmet."

  The nerve in Clay's jaw twitched and he shifted in his chair.

  "But his left leg is still weak, and he has to use a cane. We're hoping he won't need that in a few months."

  Shep rubbed his nose against Paige's leg. She patted his head, but that wasn't enough attention. He stood, loped over to Clay, and sat beside him. Clay scratched Shep around the neck and moved his hand down his back.

  When Clay didn't ask any questions, Paige pushed on. "Ben's attitude is poor. He's in the 'why me?' stage. I've tried talking to him, encouraging him, prodding him, but it doesn't seem to help. So I talked with Doc about it and he suggested I see you."

  Clay pushed back his chair, stood, and went to the counter for the pitcher of iced tea. His glass was still half full. "How does Doc expect me to help...Ben, is it?"

  She nodded and waited, hoping Clay would sit again.

  He didn't. He filled his glass, set down the pitcher, then leaned against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other. The silence in the kitchen was broken only by the tick-tock of the ceramic clock on the wall.

  Paige pushed her glass aside, not encouraged by the signals he was sending out. "Doc told me you were in an accident a few years back and you had to overcome some disabilities. I'd like you to talk to Ben."

  Clay was quiet for a moment. "I don't see how that would do any good. I'm not a professional. There are therapists and counselors who specialize in helping with rehabilitation. Doc would have the names of good people, if not in Langley, in Baltimore."

  Paige's hands fluttered as she spoke. "But you went through it yourself." She didn't know exactly what he'd gone through, but it must have been serious enough for Doc to suggest Clay talk to Ben.

  Clay shook his head. "I doubt if I went through the same thing as this young man."

  Her gaze took a clinical path over his body this time and saw nothing but vibrant good health. "Doc didn't tell me specifics, but apparently you've recovered from whatever happened."

  Clay uncrossed his ankles and pushed away from the counter. "It looks that way, doesn't it?"

  "You haven't?"

  His face showed no emotion. "Not all scars are visible."

  "I know that. That's why I want you to talk to Ben."

  "No."

  Just for a moment, she glimpsed a flash of pain in Clay's eyes. What kind of pain, she couldn't tell. "Just like that?" she asked quietly. "Without hearing any more?" She stood and stepped closer to him. She hadn't expected an out-and-out "No" any more than she'd expected her heartbeat to quicken when she stood within a foot of him. "Why can't you just talk to him?"

  "I'm thirty-five years old. He's sixteen. I wouldn't know what to say."

  "You were a teenager once. Surely you can remember--"

  Clay turned away from her and returned the pitcher of iced tea to the refrigerator, a sign that his hospitality had come to an end. "Dr. Conrad, I'm sure you're ingenious enough to find someone who can help this teenager--really help him. I might do more harm than good."

  She waited till Clay faced her. "You won't even think about it?"

  He met her gaze directly. "There's nothing to think about. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the back yard to mow. I'll walk you to your car."

  ****

  Clay stood on the porch and watched Paige Conrad's blue car ease slowly away from the gravel onto the road. She was either a careful driver or not used to driving in the USA. A pretty woman, too. Not a head- turner though, not the type of woman he would have gone for once.

  At least that's what his sister Trish would tell him. But his mind wasn't on his sister; it was on Dr. Conrad.

  She was at least five-feet-ten but, from the looks of it, not aware of her height. She didn't slouch or hunch her shoulders. And because she didn't, her breasts had pushed at her blue oxford shirt. He'd appreciated every curve.

  Her outfit had been nondescript--blue shirt, blue jeans, sneakers that looked as if they'd been comfortable for a long time. It was the kind of outfit someone who was used to blending in wore. The idea intrigued him. He had his own reasons for camouflage and wondered about other people's.

  Calling on the memory he'd honed carefully since his accident ten years ago, he pictured the exact moment he'd held out his hands to Paige. He'd been caught by the blue of her eyes. A deep, mysterious blue that seemed too dramatic for the straight brown hair that was layered to curve toward her cheeks and emphasize her oval face. Her accent added to the mystery.

  He wanted to believe the tightening in the pit of his stomach had more to do with her suggestion that he talk to Ben Hockensmith rather than man-woman attraction. But he was too old to lie to himself.

  Shep whined at his side. Clay crouched down and scratched the dog around his neck. "I wish I could help her, Shep."

  The German shepherd rubbed against Clay's hand.

  Clay had pieced his life together slowly, inch by precious inch. The three years of rehabilitation after the accident had tested every iota of endurance he'd possessed. During the past seven years in Langley, he'd learned he could have a normal life without questions, recriminations, and odd looks. The only way he could go forward was not to look back.

  Ben Hockensmith might make him relive the anguish.

  Paige's voice echoed in his head. "You were a teenager once. Surely you remember--"

  He wished to God he could. But he never would.

  ****

  "I don't understand why he won't help." Paige paced Doc's living room, unable to calm down after her encounter with Clay. She was unsettled by more than his refusal to see Ben. Something about the man himself affected her.

  Doc put aside the medical journal he'd been reading. Shoving his tortoiseshell glasses on top of his head, he confessed, "I guess I should have warned you. Clay's a private person. Sociable as all get-out, but overstep the boundary and he gets as quiet as the dead of night."

  "It would be so easy for him to talk to Ben."

  "How do you know?"

  She stopped in the center of the multicolored braided rug. "What do you mean?"

  "It might not be easy for Clay."

  "Exactly what happened to him?"

  "I know some of his story, but it's his to tell, not mine. I wouldn't be betraying any confidence to say it was a rock-climbing accident. He's told several people that."

&nbs
p; She paced back and forth again. "How can he not want to help Ben?" She'd had one goal in life, to learn her parents' skills so she could heal. The problem was she hadn't been able to heal well enough. She didn't want to fail with Ben, and she knew she needed help.

  Doc pushed the lever on his recliner and lowered the footrest. "Not everyone is as selfless as you and your parents. Some people don't devote their lives to looking for ways to help others."

  "Clay Reynolds is selfish?"

  "I didn't say that. Sometimes our health, physical or mental, depends on thinking of ourselves first."

  "I suppose I was thinking of myself when I came here," she confessed.

  Doc's expression was wry. "Taking over my practice is not selfishness."

  Paige sighed and sat on the soft cushions of the sofa. She ran her fingers over one of the pheasants printed on the arm. "I fell apart in Africa. That's not easy to face. I'm a doctor. I should be able to handle--"

  "Famine and poverty? Babies dying from malnutrition? Hour after hour, day after day, year after year? You were there three years, Paige, without a break. What did you expect to happen? Did you think you could neglect your own needs, your mental health, and not fall apart?"

  "My mother hasn't." Paige couldn't remember when her mother had shown a weakness of any kind.

  "Ah, your mother. You think she's a saint. And she might be. But we all aren't cut out for sainthood."

  Doc had never talked this way before and Paige was surprised. "You sound like you don't approve."

  The older man's eyes were sad. "It's not that I don't approve. But you didn't belong over there as a child, any more than you belonged stuck in a boarding school during your formative years. Your father would be alive today if he'd taken a break now and then."

  Always ready to defend the two people she idolized, Paige responded softly, "We took furloughs to get supplies. We came back to the States once a year."

  "Even when you came here with your parents, they were planning and organizing the entire time. Those weren't vacations, Paige."