Synopsis |
Reviews |
Excerpt
BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES . . .
Piper Stevenson’s mysterious "potion” cured one of his patients. Dr. Eric Chambers is determined to unravel the secret of her painful past. Can they heal each other’s hearts?
Eve Gaddy is the bestselling, award-winning author of sixteen novels for Bantam Loveswept and Harlequin Superromance, with more than a million copies in print. Her books have won and been nominated for awards from Romantic Times, Golden Quill, Bookseller’s Best, Holt Medallion, Texas Gold, Daphne Du Maurier and more. She was nominated for a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Innovative Series romance as well as winning the 2008 Romantic Times Career Achievement award for Series Storyteller of the year. Visit her at
http://www.evegaddy.net.
"Midnight Remedy is about love, heartbreak, forgiveness and moving on from the past. Great characters, interesting plot, this story won't disappoint romance lovers." -- AnnMarie Salcedo,
Love to Read a Good Book Blog
"A sparkling fresh love story . . . 4 Stars” —Romantic Times, Melinda Helfer
". . . lively and entertaining . . . Piper and Eric make a wonderful, steamy combination.” —Old Book Barn Gazette
"This
book is fabulous; the plot is original and fresh. The characters are
darling and the sexual tension simmers . . .” —Rendezvous
CHAPTER ONE
"Dammit, Gus, do you try to hit every blasted
pothole on the road?” Eric Chambers stared at the old man as the battered
pickup bottomed out with yet another bone-rattling, gut-busting thud.
"Eh? What’s that?” Gus cupped a hand to his ear
and flashed a yellowed grin.
After Eric’s car died on the deserted west Texas road and he began
walking in the hundred plus degree heat, the wizened old man in the beat-up
pickup seemed like a godsend. Some godsend. Eric had managed to hitch a ride
with the Good Samaritan driver from hell.
"Funny thing, you wantin’ to go jest
where I was headed.” Gus cackled, blithely unaware how much his driving grated
on Eric’s nerves.
Grunting in answer, Eric shut his
eyes, blocking out both the sight of Gus’s shaggy head and the mountain road
boasting shoulders that dropped off into nowhere and potholes the size of Lake Texoma.
Funny thing they were going to the same place, was it? In this uninhabited part
of the state, odds were any car he saw would be going his way.
Piper Stevenson would have a lot to
answer for when he finally came face to face with her. She was the
reason he was stuck in an ancient pickup with a man so old he made dirt look
young. She was the reason he’d had to take time off from his practice to
talk about a claim that couldn’t possibly hold water. And she was the
person who’d taken his patient and convinced him that she’d cured him with her
blasted herbal medications. God only knew what she’d put in that herbal tea
she’d given Randy Johnson.
Eric intended to find out, and he also
intended to tell Ms. Piper Stevenson to keep her herb-pickin’ hands off his
patients.
The pickup shuddered to a halt outside
a one-story ranch style house badly in need of fresh paint. Plants bloomed
profusely and a dogwood tree flowered in the front yard.
"Any ideas where Ms. Stevenson might
be?” he asked Gus.
"In there,” the old man rasped,
jerking his head at long, L-shaped building of painted green wood and glass
panes. A greenhouse, obviously. A couple of windows were cranked wide, opened
to the outside.
"Thanks for the ride,” Eric said, at
the same time thanking God he’d reached the place alive. His confrontational
mood reinforced by his recent difficulties, he strode to the greenhouse. A
huge, shaggy dog lay stretched across the threshold, snoring loudly. Eric
halted, wondering how to shift the animal, but it raised its head and gave a
sleepy woof. Then it thumped its tail and rose, stretching long and languidly
before ambling away. Fingers on the door handle, Eric remembered the advice
Dave Burson, his former colleague, had given him.
"Don’t tick her off until you’ve found
out for sure if it’s bull or not,” Dave had said. "Think of it, Eric, a cure
for—”
"Right,” Eric had interrupted
irritably. "She’s got a cure like I’m going to be the next Surgeon General.
Give me a break, you don’t believe it any more than I do.”
"Hey, it’s a possibility you can’t
afford to ignore. It’s one I can’t afford to ignore, anyway. What if it is a
cure? It worked for the Johnsons,” his friend had reminded him.
And Dave was right, dammit. Somethinghad worked for the Johnsons, and he was going to have to at least be civil
until he found out more. First he had to prove that Randy Johnson’s cure had
been no more than coincidental to his drinking that herbal tea. Once Eric did
that he could blast Ms. Stevenson’s ears with what he thought about practicing
medicine without a license.
He jerked open the door and stopped in
mid-stride. Stunned, he absorbed the fantasy land of colors and smells, set
incongruously in the midst of a spartan, west Texas ranch. The long, narrow
room exploded into color and confusion, crammed full with plants in every stage
of growth and every color of bloom. Though there was probably some sort of
order to the grouping, Eric’s immediate impression was one of wild disarray.
The scents of damp earth and blooming flowers gave the humid atmosphere a
tropical flavor, which blended well with the exotic flair of the plants.
He didn’t see a sign of human
inhabitants until he found his way into the next section of the greenhouse. No
less crowded, it held more flowers and other assorted greenery, including what
looked to Eric like weeds. His quarry stood in a corner of the cramped room,
surrounded by plant cuttings, clay pots and dirt.
"Where in blazes have you been, Gus?”
she asked without turning around. "We’ve got to get the orchids sprayed today.”
"Ms. Stevenson?”
She turned to look at him. Her
eyebrows lifted in a faint question. "Yes. Can I help you?”
Blonde, curvy, pretty—no, pretty
didn’t cover it. In her own way, she was as much of a contradiction as the
flowers. What was a knockout, whose sweet-hot drawl hit him like Southern
Comfort on an empty belly, doing digging up dirt in a greenhouse in the middle
of nowhere? Business, Eric reminded himself, realizing he stared. You’re here
on business. "Eric Chambers,” he said, offering his hand.
She started to offer hers, but drew it
back before he touched it. "Sorry. Mud,” she said, by way of explanation.
"Dr. Chambers,” he repeated, dropping
his hand. "From Capistrano. We had an appointment.”
"Appointment?” Her brow furrowed. "To
see the plants? I’m afraid I don’t—”
"No, not the plants. It’s about the
Johnsons.”
"The Johnsons?”
Why did she look so mystified? "Randy
and Virginia Johnson. Friends of yours, I understand?”
"Yes, but I really don’t see—”
"I made the appointment yesterday.
With your husband, perhaps?”
"Oh, I doubt that,” she said, with a
tight smile, "since I’m not married.”
"Whoever he was, he said he’d tell
you. I take it he didn’t.”
"You take it right. But you probably
talked to my grandfather, so I’m not surprised. He forgets stuff like that all
the time.”
"Typical,” Eric muttered, beginning to
feel impatient. "Well, since I’m here could we discuss this matter? I’m on a
tight schedule and I’m not sure I can get back this week.”
Her sky-blue eyes assessed him
critically, as if he were a plant she suspected of having aphids or some other
undesirable quality. Though she still looked confused, she finally said, "All
right. We might as well go to the house.”
They retraced his previous path
through the building, only this time the woman in front of him distracted Eric
even more than the plants had. As they stepped outside, a small boy catapulted
from the back door of the house and ran straight at them. Reaching the woman,
he clutched her around both legs.
"It wasn’t my fault, Mom,” he said,
looking up at her.
"What wasn’t your fault?”
"I was just tryin’ to feed it.”
"You murdered your crab.” She seemed
unsurprised.
"Didn’t murder it,” the child said
sulkily. "He wouldn’t come out.”
"Didn’t I tell you if you pulled that
hermit crab out of his shell, you’d kill it?” Exasperation colored her voice.
"Just dropped him a little,
Mom, honest.”
"From where, the top of the
refrigerator?”
The child hung his head and started
crying. Piper smoothed a hand over his blond hair and said, "Never mind. We’ll
discuss this later. Where’s Grandpa?”
"Dunno.” The tears dried like magic.
"Jason wants me to come to his house and play. Can I?”
"If it’s all right with his mom.”
Before he could disappear, Piper added, "Cole, this is Dr. Chambers. My son,
Cole.”
"Hi,” Eric said, thinking that the kid
looked like a small clone of his mother.
"Hi. Are you an animal doctor?” Cole
asked. Hope brightened his eyes.
"Sorry, sport. Just people.” It didn’t
sound like there was much chance for the crab anyway, from what he’d heard.
"Oh. You didn’t come to see Grandpa,
did you?”
"No, I came to see your mother.”
"That’s good ‘cause Grandpa don’t like
people doctors. Yesterday I heard him say that if that sorry son of—”
"Cole! How many times do I have to
tell you not to repeat what Grandpa says to Sam?”
"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Bye,” he said to
Eric with an impudent grin for his mother.
"Poor Herman,” Piper said, shaking her
head. "He lasted longer than I thought he would, though. I gave him a week,
tops, and it’s been two.”
From what little he’d seen of the kid,
Eric was surprised the crab had lasted a day. Wisely, he didn’t make that
observation aloud.
Once inside the kitchen, Piper asked,
"So, I guess you’re the new doctor from Capistrano?” What in the world did he
want with her and what did it have to do with Randy and Virginia Johnson? Piper
supposed she ought to give him a chance to explain, especially after Cole had
all but insulted his profession. He’d taken it in stride, though. She could
have sworn she’d seen a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth.
"That’s right. Let’s talk
aphrodisiacs, Ms. Stevenson.”
"Let’s not,” she said. Great, was the
new doctor a quack?
"Herbal tea, then.” He gestured
impatiently. "Whatever you want to call that concoction you gave Randy
Johnson.”
This was getting weirder by the
minute, Piper thought. Concoction? "Excuse me? What the devil are you talking
about?”
His eyes narrowed. "I want to know why
you were treating my patient. My patient, Ms. Stevenson, not yours. Just
what kind of aphrodisiac were you giving him in that herbal tea?”
Arrogant jerk, she thought, shooting
him a withering look. "Herbal tea? Aphrodisiacs? You’re a little confused,
doctor. I don’t treat people. I sell them plants.”
"You must have forgotten that when you
decided to treat Randy Johnson.”
It was really too bad, she thought,
her gaze sweeping over him from top to bottom, that he was so cute. And that he
had such gorgeous green eyes. If there was any justice at all his looks would
match his overbearing personality. "Are you sure the Johnsons are your
patients?” she asked, eyeing him distrustfully.
He ground his teeth. "Of course I’m
sure. Don’t be absurd. Randy and Virginia Johnson sent me to you. Call them if
you feel the need to check my credentials.”
She mulled that over, irritated at
him, yet curious about his reasons for being here. Herbal tea, aphrodisiacs,
and the Johnsons. Where was the connection? There was one way to find out.
"Okay, we’ll talk,” she said, motioning to a chair at the kitchen table.
Frowning, he took a seat.
Piper grabbed a faded blue plastic
pitcher from the refrigerator. "Want some?”
He eyed the pitcher dubiously. "No,
thanks.”
"It’s not herbal tea. Good old
Lipton’s, FDA approved.”
His lips quirked. "In that case, yes,
please.” As she reached for the glasses he added, "You’ve got a smart mouth,
Ms. Stevenson.”
"Self-defense.” She threw him a
pointed look over her shoulder. "It comes from years of people assuming blond
equals dumb.”
"You left out beautiful.” His gaze
slid down the length of her back before returning to meet her eyes.
Her breath caught at the unexpected
comment. "Why, Dr. Chambers, a compliment?” she asked sweetly. "I’m flattered.”
"Don’t be. I merely stated the
obvious.”
Obvious? Jerk, she thought, slamming
the glass of tea down so hard it sloshed out on the table and dribbled off the
edge onto his slacks. Reacting instinctively, she grabbed a dish towel and
tried to blot up the tea. For an eternal, electrically laden moment, she froze
with her hand on his thigh—high on his thigh. Her face flushed and she snatched
her hand away and jumped back, throwing the dish towel toward the drain board
as if it had bitten her.
"Thank you,” he said solemnly.
Their gazes met and he smiled. She
wanted to sink into the ground from sheer embarrassment.
