his chest. Once he'd been full of smart answers to that question. Now he just sat there feeling burned out and anxious all at once. He loved being a doctor. He loved having people look to him for help and being able to help them. It was just that something vital was missing now and he didn't know what to do about it. He missed the bustle of the hospital and yet a part of him didn't want to go back. For the first time in his life he didn't really know what he wanted.
Supper, he thought, pushing the fears and uncertainties from his mind with an ill-tempered shove. He wanted supper and he wanted company. He rang the littie bell on the stand, then winced as Blossom rushed into the room and howled at him, apparently taking exception to the high-pitched sound.
“Why couldn't Ingrid have a cat?” he asked crossly, as Sarah appeared in the doorway with a dinner tray.
Sarah frowned at him. Blossom frowned at him. Matt rolled his eyes and pouted.
“I hate being sick,” he complained as Sarah placed the tray across his lap. “I hate the idea that someone else is running my ER, seeing my patients—”
“Flirting with your nurses?”
He glanced up at her as she shook out the proper dose of his various medications into her hand. Her mouth quirked at the corners with that knowing little smile, but the expression in her eyes was soft and a little uncertain. What a bundle of contradictions she was— innocence and sass; a woman in most respects, but with such an air of naivete about her. She fascinated him and that fascination took the edge off his foul mood. Something about just having her in the room made him feel more relaxed.
His gaze drifted from her hands with their trimmed, unpolished nails to her breasts, to the bottom Up she pulled between her teeth as she fought with the safety cap on one of the pill bottles. Desire stirred lazily in his groin. Maybe relaxed wasn't exactly the word.
“I&ll have you know, flirting is a very serious business where I come from,” he said.
“Hmmm. Well, you've been getting plenty of practice here then, haven't you?”
He swallowed the pills she gave him and washed them down with water. The delectable meal on the tray drew his attention, and he let his gaze wander over it as he spoke. “There's no such thing as too much practice. Perfection is strived for but never achieved.”
Sarah gave him a look that told him she wasn't swallowing any of his malarkey. It was a practiced look, one she had perfected as a defense to keep people from thinking they could get the better of her.
“Enjoy your supper,” she said, forcing herself to take a step toward the door. “Just ring when you want me to come take the tray away.”
Matt felt a pang in his midsection that had nothing to do with his cracked ribs. “You're not leaving already, are you? Why don't you stay awhile and let me work on my bedside manner?”
“You're on the wrong side of the bed,” Sarah pointed out.
He gave her his most winning, devilish smile, the one that always made the nurses— even the starchiest ones—giggle. “That all depends on your point of view, Amish.”
Sarah looked down at him, impossibly handsome and rumpled, his dark eyes twinkling. She thought of his reputation and her reckless streak and the stricken looks her family would give her. She thought of the sheltered world in which she lived and the violent, sophisticated one Matt Thorne dealt with every day with a wink and a grin. And she saw very clearly that there was a point where her little adventure would become something she wouldn't be able to handle.
She came to the conclusion that while Matt Thorne was worldly enough to play word games and tease and kiss her without meaning anything by it, she was not worldly at all. And the needs she kept so carefully leashed inside her had been too long denied to resist much temptation. Matt was a ladies' man; Ingrid had told her as much. But she was not a lady. She was just a plain young woman who wanted too many things she couldn't have. Matt would stay here until he was healed and then he would leave, and she would be the one left hurting.
“I have other duties to see to,” she said softly. It was almost a fib, but she didn't think almost should count for much. There were pots to wash and dusting to do. Mainly there was her virtue to safeguard and her heart to protect.
“There can't be that much,” Matt protested. “How many other guests are staying here right now?”
“None. But four are coming for the weekend and there are things that must be done.”
“They can't wait five minutes? Come on, Sarah, just stay for a little while and tell me about your family. I like your little brother. Do you have any big ones I should worry about?”
Sarah sighed and dutifully recited the list of Mausts. “There are Peter and Daniel, older than me. They are sons of my father's first wife who died in childbirth. Lucas, Ruth, and Jacob are the younger ones still at home. There now, you know all about us. I will come back later for the tray.”
With that she turned on the heel of one sensible black shoe and left the room, leaving Matt sputtering.
“But—but—what about me?” he demanded.
Sarah was already gone. Blossom remained in the doorway, giving him the evil eye and a soft woof that set her droopy jowls jiggling. Then the dog abandoned him too.
Matt sat back against the pillows, thunderstruck. Women just didn't resist him like that. Lord, had the beating he'd received somehow knocked the magnetism out of him? There was a frightening idea. He speared a chunk of roast beef and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
No, no, he reflected, that wasn't the case at all. Sarah was attracted. He'd seen it in her eyes, tasted it in her kiss. Lord, that sweet kiss! She was scared. She needed a little wooing, that was all. Well, hell, there weren't many better at that than he was, he reflected with typical doctors' arrogance.
He'd start fresh after dinner. He'd go downstairs and just woo the sensible shoes right off her. There was something special about the sparks he felt inside when Sarah was near. They were brighter than any he'd felt recently. They made him feel enthusiastic about life. He wanted to explore that feeling. He wanted to see it reflected in Sarah's eyes. Something deep inside him ached with hunger for it. And he was going to start right after dinner, he thought as the pills kicked in and his eyelids began to pull down like weighted drapes. His fork had dropped over the edge of the bed, and Blossom scampered in from the hall to snatch the meat off the lines.
Right after dinner he'd start his campaign to win Sarah Troyer. Or maybe after he'd had a little nap
Sarah had been working at Thornewood Inn for about two months. She had her own small room on the second floor—adjacent to Matt's, in fact, just on the other side of the bathroom—and she lived at the inn full-time with the exception of every other weekend when Amish church services were held. Then she spent Saturday night and Sunday with her family, who lived just a mile down the road.
John and Ingrid Wood had purchased the big farmhouse outside Jesse nearly a year before and had been slowly, lovingly renovating it, sanding and polishing the old hardwood floors, stripping paint from cupboards, tearing out dropped ceilings and restoring the plaster-work hidden beneath. The end result was a house Sarah thought of as luxurious if perhaps a little overdone for her plain tastes.
Billowing lace curtains hung like froth at the windows. Armchairs and sofas were plump and plentiful, covered in patterned fabrics in shades of rose and ruby and rich hunter green. Framed works of art Ingrid lovingly referred to as “primitives” adorned the fancy papered walls. Thornewood now boasted four guest rooms and three baths with fancy claw-footed tubs.
In Sarah s opinion the best room by far was the library, outfitted with comfortable stuffed chairs and shelves and shelves of books. The painted white shelves were built into the walls and stretched from floor to ceiling on two sides of the room. There were all kinds of books—the travel books John Wood had written, encyclopedias, novels, history books, current magazines on world events, cooking, and fashion. Easily her favorite part of her job was spending her spare moments in the library soaking up the printed words like a human sponge.
For as long as she could remember she had loved books. Even before she could read them she had carried them around and looked at the pictures and stared at the words, loving the look of them. Learning to read had seemed the most wonderful, magical thing in the world to her, and she had never understood other children who found it a tedious chore. Reading had opened up the world to her. It was the one thing that could transport her away from the dullness of farm life. There weren't so many books to be had at the little Amish country school she had attended, and they were scarce around the Maust house hold, but at the age of eight Sarah had wandered
