Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,21

“Seriously, though—do we know any eligible guys her age?”

I think about my patient who came in the other day for the STD screening and shake my head. “There are a lot of jerks out there. I don’t want her getting hurt again.”

Julia rolls her eyes. “You can’t cover us all in bubble wrap.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “It’s something I’ve been talking about with my therapist. The importance of fending for myself, sink or swim.”

I consider that a moment. “I’d never want to watch you sink.”

“I appreciate that. But sometimes it’s part of learning to swim.”

Draining the last of my cider, I throw an arm around my sister. “All right. But you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to toss you a life ring or strap water-wings on your arms or something.”

“Way to run the metaphor into the ground.” She grins and tips up her own glass. “I love you, big brother.”

“I love you, too, pipsqueak.” This time when I ruffle her hair, she doesn’t duck away. “Can I check on Jordan?”

“Yes, but if you wake her I will beat you to death with your stethoscope.”

“That’s fair.” I stand up and make a big show of tiptoeing over to the grocery bag I left on the counter. Inside is a small plush pig I found for Jordan on the baby aisle.

I’m not saying I bought it because it reminds me of Izzy, but I’m not saying I didn’t.

With another dramatic tiptoe performance—bolstered by an eye roll from my sister—I make my way to Jordan’s room and nudge open the door. My niece is fast asleep on her belly with half the covers thrown off. I bend down to tug the lightest blanket up over her back, then tuck the pig into the crook of her arm.

“Love you, Jordie girl,” I whisper.

My heart squeezes with love for this pint-sized replica of my sister. I know it’s not the dude-bro thing to admit wanting a family.

But toxic masculinity isn’t my jam, so yeah, I want a wife and kids and the whole American dream. Even if it didn’t work for my mom and sister like they hoped it would, I’m not giving up on that wish. If that makes me a hopeful sucker, so be it.

My niece stirs in her sleep, small fingers reaching out to clutch the pig’s snout. I smile and think of Izzy, not the least bit surprised I can’t get her out of my mind.

As I tiptoe from the room, I wonder how I’m going to shake this crush.

Or if I even want to.

Chapter 5

Isabella

It’s after dark when my brother walks me back to my cabin. “Lock the door behind me,” Mark says gruffly. “If anyone shows up, hit ‘em in the face with the hatchet.”

“Of course.” I’ll do no such thing, and he knows it. My brother built a three-story condo for a field mouse that got into his house, so I know he’s not the violent type, either.

But I appreciate him thinking I’m the sort of woman who’d defend myself aggressively if needed. Hefting my new tool, I lay the hatchet carefully on the table just inside my front door. “I’m prepared to bash anyone who knocks.”

“Maybe not Doc Bradley,” he amends. “He’s a good egg.”

I’m unfamiliar with the expression, but the thought of Bradley in a delicate white shell makes me giggle. “Thank Chelsea again for dinner. It was wonderful.”

“Yeah.” He gets that goofy, lovestruck look he has anytime his wife walks into a room, and my heart melts a little. “Call if you need more cupcakes.”

I ate two already, and I’d surely explode if I went back for another. “I’ll certainly do so.”

Throwing my arms around his massive bulk, I squeeze hard before letting go. “Good night, Mark.”

“Night.”

I watch him amble away, and yes, I lock the door behind him. Then I wait five minutes. Ten, just to be sure he’s busy tucking Libby in bed or kissing Chelsea or whatever my brother does in the privacy of his home.

When the clock strikes nine, I slip out the door into the darkness.

I’m still in my jeans, but I’ve pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt with the Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch logo. A gift from Jade and Amber, though I never planned to wear it for covert nighttime activities.

As I duck through shadows, I take care to avoid the security guard I spotted near the spa. I do my best not to look suspicious, though if anyone sees me, I’ve got a cover story