Page 3 of Caught Up In You

I packed that very day. Called to quit my job at the bar when I was already headed north, Nashville and all my mistakes in the rearview mirror.

Libby Hart—my mother, if you can call her that—had once again made a stupid decision because of a man. Only instead of stealing her car or slapping her around or breaking her heart, this man had loaded her Corolla with a duffel bag full of meth and told her to drive it to Chicago. Libby wasn’t even a drug user. She should have known better, shouldn’t have put Hazel in danger like that.

But as angry as I was—and still am—I can’t deny that coming to Cardinal Springs and taking responsibility for Hazel was exactly what I needed.

I sigh, thinking about letting Libby into this little cocoon. I’ll have to pretend that I’m not furious, so angry I can’t see straight, because Hazel, with her good nature, has forgiven Libby.

Hazel still calls her Mom.

Libby hasn’t been Mom to me for decades.

“Oh my god, he’ssohot.”

Whispered voices outside the cracked door of the hospital room jerk me out of my inner monologue. Under slept and overwhelmed is the perfect state for eavesdropping on hospital gossip.

“Seriously, he’s like the Midwestern Henry Cavill.”

“I would take him to an on-call room in heartbeat. Hell, I’d do him in the third-floor janitor’s closet. The one with the leaky ceiling tile?”

“Is he single?”

“As far as I know. I mean, he’s always working, so maybe a hospital hookup would be perfect.”

“Susie down in radiology went to prom with him. She says he’s an amazing kisser.”

“God, if he was good in high school, imagine what he could do with that tongue now.”

A half moan, half groan seeps through the door, and then the conversation dies, replaced by a shuffle of feet. Then one of the voices says, louder and brighter, “Good afternoon, Dr. McBride!”

“Hi,” the good doctor replies, his voice deep and friendly, the audio equivalent of a cozy flannel blanket on a cold winter’s day.

Then the door opens and his tall, broad-shouldered frame is filling the tiny room. Six foot something and dark haired, his blue eyes filled with a kind, yet steady warmth. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants that makes him look sexy and not at all like a youth pastor. He’s also got on a navy shawl collar sweater with a white lab coat over it, a stethoscope around his neck.

I still don’t know exactly how I feel about Owen McBride, pediatrician and Cardinal Springs golden boy. I’ve lived here long enough to have heard tales of his baseball triumphs in high school and college, of the stray animals he’s rescued and the old ladies he’s led across the street. He’s basically the floor model of agood guy. A person like that would normally cause me to roll my eyes, but Owen McBride is also my best friend’s older brother. He reallyisthat nice.

And he’s so fucking hot that sometimes it hurts to look at him.

Now the conversation in the hall makes sense.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low to avoid disturbing Hazel. But she’s already stirring, as if she senses the brute force of his hotness in the room. “How are we doing?”

“Good,” I say, dragging my focus down to the baby in my arms. “She seems to be doing all the baby things just right.”

“Hey, Dr. McBride,” Hazel says as she pulls herself up to sitting, wincing only slightly as she settles onto a maxi pad the size of a Subway sandwich tucked into a pair of mesh undies.

“Hi, Hazel, it’s good to see you,” he says. He holds his giant hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, then rubs it into hispalms in a way that absolutely should not be sexy but somehow is.

Jesus Christ, I need to get laid if I’m lusting after a man applying industrial foam hand sanitizer.

He crosses the floor and holds out those clean, capable hands, and thank god I don’t have to answer any questions, because I’m not sure I have the power of speech at the moment. I may be attracted to Owen McBride, but I think I kind of hate the affect he has on me. This level of attraction can only lead to disaster.

I watch as Owen takes Eden to the little bassinet beside Hazel’s bed and unwraps her blanket. That rouses the baby, who promptly squinches her eyes shut and opens her mouth, letting out an ear-splitting protest.

“Good lungs,” he says with a chuckle, then warms his stethoscope before placing it gently on her tiny chest and belly. A little V appears between this thick, dark brows as he listens. When he’s done, he wraps her back up like he’s doing origami, and as soon as Eden is snuggled back into her blanket, she quiets. Then he lifts her, and I let out the most embarrassing involuntary whimper at the sight of this giant man holding this tiny baby. He hands Eden to Hazel, then smiles his golden boy smile.

“She’s perfect,” he says, like he’s offering a benediction.

“She is?” Hazel’s voice betrays all the hope and terror that I imagine comes with being a new parent, but another smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder from Owen seems to relax her.

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