Her Secret Valentine. Cathy Gillen Thacker

a long, frustrated breath.

      “Anyway,” Ashley sighed. She started to run her hands through her hair, the way she always did when she was restless, then stopped when she encountered the sleekly arranged chignon and pins. Looking as if she no longer wanted to discuss this, she eyed him up and down, taking in his ancient sweats and running shoes. “Did you say something about going for a run with me?”

      He had, but that was before she was standing in front of him, looking so…wrung out and pale. He didn’t want to say so, but physically she didn’t look up for a long walk never mind a run in forty-degree weather. “Yeah, but—” Cal paused as the beeper at his waist began to buzz. He looked at the numbers running across the front, grimaced. He glanced at Ashley in apology, aware this was something he’d forgotten to mention. “I’m on call this weekend.”

      He turned the beeper off and headed for the phone.

      “That the hospital or a patient?” Ashley asked.

      “Hospital.” Which meant it wasn’t likely a problem that could be solved over the phone. He picked up the phone and dialed. Ashley was still waiting when he had finished talking. “I’ve got to go. A sixteen-year-old kid got hurt on an ATV. From the sound of it, I’m going to be a while.”

      He was already grabbing his keys and wallet. “I’ll call you later,” he said.

      Ashley flashed him a wan smile.

      Cal headed for the door then came back, hooked an arm about her waist and pulled her close. Aggravation boiling up inside him, he kissed her soundly. He wished the demands of their profession weren’t separating them again so soon. “Damn, I hate leaving you today,” he said.

      This time her smile was real. And sexy as all get out. “We’ve got time,” she murmured reassuringly. Both hands on his chest, she shoved him in the direction he had to move. “Now, go.”

      LOOKING BACK, Ashley didn’t know how she managed it. But she waited until Cal had driven off before she gave in to the nearly overwhelming nausea that had plagued her from the moment she had woken up. She rushed to the bathroom, where she promptly threw up.

      Telling herself it was just nerves—and the pressure her parents were exerting on her to find a job “worthy” of her education and training—Ashley forced herself to shower and dress. And then she threw up again.

      Wondering if she were coming down with something, she took her temperature, found it normal. Then she said to hell with it, and went back to bed.

      By the time an hour had passed, and she had napped a little more, she felt remarkably better. At least as far as the steadiness of her stomach was concerned.

      As far as the rest of her went…well, the more she thought about it, the more questions she had. And there was only one way to get the answers she needed. So she got up, grabbed the keys to the Mustang, and went to see an old and dear friend.