Orchard Valley Brides by Debbie Macomber

said with false cheerfulness, carrying his breakfast tray to the bedside table.
    â€œWas it the checkers…or the kiss?”
    â€œIt looks like lumpy oatmeal and soft-boiled eggs this morning,” she said, ignoring his words.
    â€œNorah.” His hand covered hers, preventing her from leaving.
    â€œThe checkers,” she said dryly. “You flatter yourself if you think a kiss would unsettle me like that. I’m a big girl, Mr. Cassidy.”
    â€œThen perhaps we should try again.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd.”
    Rowdy’s hand tightened over hers. “It isn’t as preposterous as you make it seem. You’re very sweet, Norah Bloomfield. A man could get accustomed to having you around.”
    Norah hesitated, not knowing if she should take his words as a compliment or an insult. “I’m not a plaything for your personal amusement. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
    â€œWill you stop by later?”
    â€œIf I have the time.” Her back was to him; she was eager to make her escape.
    â€œIf you bring the checkers game I’ll give you another chance to redeem yourself. I might even let you win just so I can give you what you want.”
    â€œAh, but that’s where we differ,” she said as breezily as she could. “You see, Mr. Cassidy, you don’t have anything I want.”
    â€œOuch,” he said and as she left the room she glanced over her shoulder to see him clutching at an imaginary wound. She didn’t want to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.
    Three hours had passed when Karen Johnson sought her out. “Check on the cowboy, would you, Norah? Something’s wrong.”
    â€œWhy me?” Norah protested.
    â€œYou’re the only one who can go near him without getting your head ripped off.”
    â€œDid he ask for me?”
    Karen frowned slightly. “Yes, but don’t feel too complimented. He’s throwing out plenty of names, including the governor’s and a couple of congressmen. It wouldn’t surprise me if they rushed to his side, either.”
    Karen hadn’t exaggerated. By the time Norah arrived from the far end of the corridor, she could hear Rowdy ranting. His words, however, were indistinguishable, which in Norah’s opinion was probably for the best.
    â€œRowdy,” she said, standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. “What’s going on in here?”
    He looked up at her, placing his hand on the telephone’s mouthpiece. “Word leaked out that I was in a plane crash.” He sighed heavily. “CHIPS stock has already dropped two points. We’re in one hell of a mess here.”

Four
    â€œD o you know of a decent secretarial service?” Rowdy demanded as soon as Norah walked in the door the next morning. He might have been sitting behind a mahogany desk preparing to command his empire. His dark eyes were sharp and alert, his jaw tense.
    â€œUh…I don’t think so.”
    â€œWhat I need is a phone book.”
    Taken aback, Norah turned and pointed behind her. “There’s one at the end of the hall.”
    â€œGet it,” he said, then added, “Please.”
    Still Norah hesitated. “Rowdy, you seem to have forgotten you’re in a hospital and not a hotel.”
    â€œI wouldn’t care if I was in the morgue. I’m not about to watch the business I built—ten years of blood and sweat—go down the tubes because of a stupid broken leg.”
    â€œYour leg’s far more than—”
    â€œThe telephone book,” he reminded her crisply.
    Norah threw her hands in the air and retrieved the phone book from the nurses’ station.
    â€œThis is it?” Rowdy’s eyes widened incredulously when she handed it to him. “I’ve read short stories longer than this.”
    â€œThere’s always Portland, but to be honest I don’t know where I’d find a Portland