it open-ended, wondering how he’d respond. He so clearly didn’t want to be here that she couldn’t imagine why he’d volunteered to come in the first place. Maybe he’d thought it would be a nice addition to his résumé.
He just nodded. “My bags are outside.”
Apparently he intended to give the clinic a try. At any other time, she’d be grateful. But now—
She spared a fleeting thought for Aunt Elly, who’d taken over for her at home when she’d had to rush into the clinic.
The elderly woman hadn’t lost any of the loving spunk that had once made her the perfect foster mother for a scared, defiant eleven-year-old. She’d be all right until Maggie could get back to take over.
“I’ll help you bring your things in and show you the apartment.”
She led the way outside, wondering what he saw when he looked at Button Gap. The village was only a few hours’ drive from his busy hospital in Baltimore, but to him it probably looked as if it had not changed for the past century.
White frame houses and a couple of log cabins clustered around a village center composed of a general store and café, the post office with a flag flying in the wind and the medical clinic. White picket fences enclosed neat front gardens, their late chrysanthemums killed by the last frost. The heavily forested mountain ridges surrounded the town on all sides, rearing upward to cut off the gray November sky.
Maggie looked at it and saw home. He probably saw a hamlet with no coffee bar or decent restaurant in sight.
She might have predicted the new SUV he drove. It had probably been shiny clean when he left the city, but miles of mountain road had splashed it with mud.
He opened the back, and she grabbed the nearest duffel while he picked up two other bags. They matched, of course.
She nodded toward the long frame building that had been first a private home and then a grocery store before the county bought it for the clinic.
“The apartment for visiting doctors is on that side of the office. Mine is on the other side.”
He sent a cursory glance from one to the other. “Okay.” He took a computer bag from the front seat and slammed the vehicle’s door, locking it with an electronic key. “Let’s have a look.”
She unlocked the apartment’s front door and ushered him in, trying not to smile as he glanced around the living room. The county had been cheap with the furnishings, figuring none of the volunteers stayed long enough to make it worth fixing up the place. The beige carpet, brown couch, faux leather recliner and small television on a fake wood stand gave it the air of a motel room.
“The kitchen’s through here, bedroom and bath there.”
He took it in with a comprehensive glance. “I trust your place is a little better than this, since you’re the permanent staff.” His stress on the word said he hadn’t missed her earlier dig.
“Mine was the living room and kitchen in the original house, so it has a bit more charm.” She dropped the bag she’d carried in. “This part was once a grocery store. They knocked down the shelving and put in the kitchen to make it livable.”
His expression suggested he didn’t find it particularly livable. “Is it always this cold?”
“The county can’t afford to heat the place when no one’s here.” She indicated the cellar door. “I’ll start the furnace, but you’d better come with me to see how it works, just in case it shuts off on you in the middle of the night.”
She’d prefer he not think she was at his beck and call for household emergencies.
Taking the flashlight from its hook, she opened the door, letting out a damp smell. She vividly recalled the female doctor who’d flatly refused to go into the cellar at all. Grant looked as if he were made of sterner stuff than that, but you never could tell.
She took a steadying breath and led the way down the rickety wooden stairs. Truth to tell, she hated dark, damp places herself. But she wouldn’t give in to that fear, not anymore.
Grant’s footsteps thudded behind her. He had to duck his head to avoid a low beam, and he seemed too close in the small space.
“There’s the monster.” She flicked the light on the furnace—a squat, ugly, temperamental beast. “It’s oil fired, but the motor’s electric.”
She checked the oil gauge, knelt next to the motor and flipped the switch. Nothing.
Grant squatted next to her, putting one hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he repeated her action. His touch was warm and strong, giving her the ridiculous desire to lean against him.
“Doesn’t sound too promising.”
His voice was amused, rather than annoyed, as if he’d decided laughter was the best way of handling the situation. Maybe he was imagining the stories he’d have to tell, back in the city, about his sojourn in the wilderness.
“It’s just stubborn.” She stood, putting a little distance between them. She closed the door that covered the switch, then gave it a hearty kick. The furnace coughed, grumbled and started to run.
“Nice technique,” he said. “I’ll remember that.” His voice was low and rich with amusement, seeming to touch a chord within her that hadn’t been touched in a long time.
She swung around, the beam of the flashlight glancing off rickety wooden shelves lined with dusty canning jars. A wave of discomfort hit her, and she went quickly to the stairs.
“The furnace will keep running until the thermostat clicks off, but it’s always a little drafty upstairs. I hope you brought a few sweaters.” I hope you decide this isn’t for you.
If he left, they’d be without a doctor until after the holidays. If he stayed—
She didn’t have any illusions about his reaction if he discovered the secret she hid. No one else in Button Gap would give her away, but he might.
“I’ll make do,” he said. He closed the cellar door behind them.
Grant wouldn’t have a chance to give her away, because he’d never know. She’d make sure of that.
“Do you have a family, Maggie?”
Her heart stopped. “No. Why do you ask?”
His gaze fixed on her face, frowning, as if he considered a diagnosis. “I thought I saw a kid at your window when I arrived.”
“That must have been Calico.” She tried for a light laugh. “My cat. She loves to sit in the window and watch the birds. You probably saw her.”
He gave her a cool, superior look that said he wasn’t convinced. “Must have been, I guess.”
Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. Really I am. But isn’t protecting some of Your little ones worth a white lie?
Somehow she didn’t think God weighed sins the way she’d like Him to.
And she also had a sinking feeling that told her she might not get rid of Grant Hardesty anytime soon.
“So you lied to the man, child?” Aunt Elly looked up from the piecrust she was rolling out on Maggie’s kitchen table, her faded blue eyes shrewd behind her steel-rimmed glasses.
“I didn’t want to.” The defensive note in her voice made her sound eleven again, trying every trick in the foster-kid book on Aunt Elly before realizing the woman knew them all and loved her anyway. “But I didn’t want him to find out about the Bascoms.”
She shot a glance toward the living room, where Tacey, five, and Robby, four, were playing some kind of a game. Joey, at eight considering himself the man of the family, wasn’t in her line of sight. He’d probably curled up with a book on the couch, keeping an eye on his siblings. She lowered her voice.
“You