Here is the last of my teasers for Intense Love! Catch up on the Prologue first. You can buy it now for just 99 cents! Or read it free on Kindle Unlimited.

Great Relationship

Ian Price opened the door to the waiting room and saw he was the only one there. Good. That was better than sitting with a bunch of strangers that were in need of Dr. Cameron Mason’s services.

He didn’t need them.

He was fine.

It was mandated. He’d get his release signed, and he’d wait until the investigation was done, then he’d return to normal. Return to work. As if nothing happened a few weeks ago.

No concussion. No partner that was home trying to recover and no dead teen haunting his dreams.

He’d be back to the way things were. He’d make sure of it.

There were magazines on the oak table in front of him. Time. Vanity Fair. Sports Illustrated. He didn’t pick up one of them.

He wasn’t here to stay. He didn’t want to get cozy with a read; he just wanted this over with.

Dr. Mason was probably some old balding fat man that was going to talk to him in a quiet voice, ask him about his inner feelings. If his parents ever raised their voices to him or swatted him on the ass. The answer would be yes. And he turned out just fine because of it. Matter of fact he and his parents had a mighty fine relationship to this day.

Another ten minutes went by while he looked around the quiet office. If the watercolors hanging and the flowers in the crystal vase were supposed to be calming, they weren’t cutting it. Not that he’d let anyone know he was anything but calm, cool and collected even in the Sahara Desert at midday.

Nerves of steel. That was him. Always.

The door he’d entered beeped, then opened and he glanced back, only to see the receptionist still standing there, annoyingly popping her cherry-scented gum like she’d been doing when he walked in the front door. Either she put a fresh piece in or that stuff had some extract in it because it made him want to gag thinking of sugary sweetness at a carnival.

“Dr. Mason will be just another minute. Is there anything I can get you before I leave for the day?”

The twenty-something was eying him more than he cared for. Not trying to figure out who he was. More like she was hungry. Looking for a mate. Or looking for a plaything. He wasn’t either.

He brushed off her flirting. He’d never see her again. He was going to have his one visit and be done. How hard would it be to get his release signed?

“I’m good,” he said, then watched as she wiggled her eyebrows at him one more time, grinned and left.

A minute, maybe two tops, and the office door opened and Dr. Mason came out.

No old fat balding man.

Not old. Not fat. Not a man.

A woman. A smoking hot one in a black pencil skirt hitting her knees, a white shirt buttoned to her neck and tucked in, but not hiding a thing from his imagination. Neither were the simple but still sexy black heels.

Dark straight hair falling over her shoulders, brown eyes assessing his, but not like her secretary. Unfortunately.

“Mr. Price?” she said, her voice cool and maybe a bit raspy. Nah, that was just in his imagination. She was holding her hand out and walking forward. “I’m Dr. Mason. Why don’t you come into my office?”

He shook her hand, brushing off the heat from contact, and followed her in, noting a leather couch on one wall and two chairs across from it. He sat down in one of the chairs. No way he was lying down. No reason.

She laughed, a low sound that shot more heat in places it had no business being.

“So why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” she asked.

“Don’t you know that?” Dr. Mason was contracted as the city’s head shrink.

“I do. I’m asking why you think you’re here.”

“So you can sign my release papers and send me back to work.” Might as well be honest. No use lying or prolonging anything. “I took all your tests the other day. I’m betting I did just fine on them.”

She pursed her lips. Full lips, minus any color or gloss. “I’ll do that in time. Until then, let’s just chat.”

Great. Chat. He hated chatting. Hated it even more when it was idle and that was all he was going to do. No mention of the test results, but he wasn’t worried.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

She sat back in her chair, the pen she was holding now resting on her pad. “What would you like to tell me?”

“Not much,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him, then resting his hands on his belly.

She grinned at him, not easily put off. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel just fine,” he said.

“And your partner?”

“Mick is good. Lucky to be alive, but he’ll make it. He’ll make it to his retirement too.”

“Thanks to you,” she said. “How do you feel about the events that unfolded that day?”

Here we go. She wanted to talk about his feelings. “I feel just fine,” he repeated. “I did what needed to be done.”

She nodded, then picked up her pen and wrote something down. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She was taking notes now. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my childhood?”

“Do you want to talk about your childhood?” she asked, frowning at him.

What was wrong with him? He just didn’t want to talk about the night of the incident. Anything but. “Not really.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“Don’t all shrinks want to dig into their patient’s past? See if maybe they were abused. If something set them off. I’ll tell you right now there’s nothing. My mother spanked me a few times, then cried harder than I did. My father yelled at me too, then I yelled back and we laughed about it then and still do now. I’ve got a great relationship with them and they’d tell you the same.”

“Did you practice that speech before you came here?”

He had, but he wouldn’t admit it. “It’s the truth.”

“I actually believe you.”

“So we’re good then. You can sign my release and I’ll be set once the investigation is done?”

“I was told the investigation could take up to another week or longer. They’ll have my full evaluation by then. No worries.”

He wanted to grind his teeth but decided that would probably be a mark against him. Something more she’d want to talk about.

“Well then, if we’re done today,” he said, moving to stand up.

“That’s fine. I was running late and have had a long day myself. We can walk out together if you’d like,” she said.

He wanted to say no, but that’d be rude and he was probably rude enough as it was. No reason to get her on his bad side. Not until she signed that stupid release. “You’re going to make me come back, aren’t you?”

She smiled at him. “Of course.”

He wanted to leave but didn’t. She walked behind her desk and typed a few things on her computer. “Since my secretary has left for the day, I’ll just schedule your next appointment. How about two days from now, same time? Last appointment of the day?”

“That’s fine,” he said. Not like he had much going on. The sooner he could get this over with the sooner he could move on.

“Well then, you can walk me to my car,” she said, grabbing her purse, walking out the door and flashing her keycard to open the inner waiting room to get to the receptionist area. She liked the security here and how she could lock herself and clients in from the front waiting room for privacy if needed.

***

Cam was trying not to laugh. Detective Price absolutely did not want to be in her office. It was not the first time she’d dealt with a stubborn officer. One that thought he was fine. That figured she’d just sign his release and he’d be done.

Sometimes she’d meet with them a few times, make her recommendation based on their work history and current mental state, and they’d be done. Others took longer.

She was thinking Ian’s would be pretty simple. He’d passed all his tests with flying colors. But no one got a release on one visit from her. Especially when they didn’t want to talk about what actually happened. So until he at least acknowledged more than his partner was lucky to be alive that night, he’d have to come back.

“Do you always leave alone?” he asked her when she turned to lock up the office door.

“Normally. My secretary never wants to stay a minute past five. Guess she has an active social life that is more important than work. Tonight it’s a softball league she’s in. Said she was the starting pitcher and had to get there early to warm up. Something along those lines.”

Good staff was hard to come by. Tiffany had been employed for a few months now. She did her job well when she was there and there wasn’t much more Cam could ask for at this point. It was better than the last three secretaries she’d had.

Ian snorted. “I got that impression.”

“Did she hit on you?” Cam asked, trying to hide her annoyance. She’d outgrown the days of rebelling against any authority by the time she was twenty. Tiffany was years behind, it seemed.

“Does it matter? I’m not interested either way.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s hit on one of my patients. Most are either in situations like yourself, short-term looking for a release, court-appointed assessments for trial, or…high end.”

“Not a lot of privacy for high end in here.”

“Actually you’re wrong. Because there are so many businesses in this complex, it’s hard for anyone to know why someone would be entering unless they were followed to their destination.”

Which was exactly why she’d chosen this location. She was on the third floor with five other businesses. There were two floors above her too. Clients could easily find another reason why they were in the building if they wanted to and most did. Most doubled up on appointments and saw someone before or after her, covering their tracks.

“Whatever makes people feel good.”

She turned and looked at him in the elevator. Really looked at his features. Dark hair, dark eyes, a few days’ growth of beard. Not messy, not lazy, just…manly. It seemed to fit his personality.

“That is part of my job. To help people. To make them feel better.”

“Does everyone feel better when they leave your office?”

“Not always. Not everyone can be helped. I understand that. Do you?”

“What? Feel better? I thought our session was over with?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

He was good. “It is. Just having a conversation.”

“Elevator conversation is normally things like ‘What do you think about this weather? Did you catch the game last night?’”

She liked his personality. Keeping just enough of himself back, but not so much that you wondered what was going on. A secret bad boy. Nothing wrong with that and though she was annoyed with Tiffany, she could appreciate the need to take a risk and see where she’d end up. “I can catch the weather on the news like most people. And I don’t have time for sports.”

He laughed at her. “Good point.”

They rode down in silence now, then headed out to the parking lot. “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she said. He nodded and walked in the other direction. She turned toward her car. “Shit!”

He was back at her side fast. “Well now, Doctor, is that any way to talk?”

It was wrong, she knew it, but she couldn’t stop it. All of those years of control flew out the window just now. Right in front of her. Her brand new Mercedes that she’d had all of three weeks had two tires slit.

“Sorry. I think that warranted it,” she said with a nod toward the tires.

“Guess you don’t make everyone feel good after all.”

 

It’s that time again. A little teaser of my next novella in the Love Collection, Intense Love!

Prologue

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ian asked his partner, Mick.

He and Mick had been partners for three years now, since Ian was promoted to detective. Mick was closing in on retirement and the two of them had a nice working relationship. One where Mick let Ian do the bulk of the work in the guise of “training.”

It was all fine with Ian though. He’d rather be reliant only on himself. Mick was a good guy. A good detective. One just counting down his days. Three hundred and twenty-three to be exact.

“Zippy said this is where he got his last batch.”

Zippy was Mick’s informant. Nicknamed that because he always had a Ziploc bag of something on him. Usually drugs, but sometimes food. He had a fascination with the little blue plastic handle sliding back and forth.

“He’s not usually wrong,” Ian said back. Zippy might be high half the time, but he knew where to get his stash when he needed it.

Ian closed in on the door at the end of the hall of the condemned building. Condemned buildings should be empty, but instead were full of drugs, users, and their sellers taking up residence.

He and Mick were looking for a dude named Fast for questioning about a murder that happened last week. Not only did Fast get users the goods in a speedy fashion, but he managed to slip away before anyone could find him.

There were low voices coming through the door. A man and a woman. A little pleading and a lot of begging. He was thinking someone might be short on funds and was trying to barter her way for a quick fix.

The door was slightly ajar, so Ian pushed it open with his foot, his gun drawn. Mick’s too. No use taking any chances in a place like this. There were no expectations Fast would come with them peacefully, if he was even here.

They were making their way into the rundown nasty rat-infested living room. Furniture was overturned, holes with coils sticking out. There was a stench in here that would cling to his clothes even after a washing, he was positive.

The voices in the back were getting louder and it seemed to be just the two of them…no one else around, which was surprising. Normally in places like this, users could be seen passed out or shooting up everywhere you turned. That should have given him the first indication something wasn’t right.

Instead, he followed Mick’s lead this time down another hall. They were just outside the room the voices were coming from when he heard a creak behind him, turned, and took a blow to the head, sending him down and out.

When he came to a few seconds later his vision was blurred, but he saw Mick down next to him, blood pooling everywhere and a young woman over him with a bloody knife bringing it down again. He lifted his arm and fired, then blacked out.

My last teaser of Beach Love until it’s released. If you haven’t read the prologue you can catch up on that first.

There’s the first chapter.

Exactly Who

Melissa Mahoney grabbed her folder and her keys, then made her way to her first showing of the day. She hadn’t even met, let alone talked to her new client. All communication had been done via email.

He wanted a beachfront property on Kent Island. Most houses were on the water, but not all had sandy beaches. The bulk had banks of rocks and you entered the water climbing down the rocks or off your personal dock. The sandy beach would be the tough part, but he had a healthy budget and was paying cash. Normally she’d ask for proof ahead of time, but didn’t need to when he sent her a letter from his attorney verifying his funds.

She had two properties to show him today. One didn’t have a beach but had access to one two houses down, on top of his own large dock. The other had a beach, but was under budget and a major fixer upper. He never specified either way about potential renovations, so she’d get more of a feel of what he was looking for today.

She was just walking up the front walkway of the Stevensville property ten minutes before the appointment when she heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the road. Her father had a Harley when she was a kid and she could spot one by its sound a mile away.

When the Harley Road King pulled next to her BMW she tried to hide her shock. She wasn’t sure what to expect from her client today, but it wasn’t this. Most didn’t show up for a house showing on a bike, much less a brand new custom ride like that. She’d always been a sucker for a bike. Part of being daddy’s little girl.

He was clearly tall by the length of his legs. Nice muscular ones under his jeans. Not to mention the defined biceps peeking out of his T-shirt. When was the last time she noticed that on a client? Never!

She stood there and watched him shut the bike off, stand up and then turn his back—letting her admire that part of his body too—while he took his helmet off and hung it on the handlebars. Then he turned and looked at her. She wasn’t sure her jaw ever hung open like this before. Now he could probably toss grapes in the opening.

No way. It couldn’t be. Not him. Not the man that had hit on her at her best friend Sheldon’s wedding just last month. Just down the road from this house, no less.

She had to be dreaming. She’d never gotten his last name though. Just knew him as Connor and a friend of Sheldon’s husband, Dr. Erik McMann.

Connor strode up the walkway toward her, his cocky grin matching the mischievous look in his light blue eyes telling her he knew exactly who he was meeting with today.

She’d been attracted to him at the wedding. She’d been tempted too. But she didn’t do one-night stands and once she knew what was really on his agenda, she walked away.

“So we meet again,” he said, his deep voice carrying a ton of humor in it.

She could play it cool. She’d mastered the cool face years ago. It was what made her one of the top realtors in Queen Anne and Anne Arundel counties. She read people well, sought out what they wanted and made sure she found it for them at the best possible price. “I didn’t realize it was you that contacted me.”

He put his hand on his chest—his overly large hand. Her treacherous body was warming up, reminding her how it felt to have that hand holding hers. “I’m hurt.”

His charming smile told her otherwise. “I find that hard to believe.” She held her hand out to his, pretending that she didn’t feel the same spark she’d felt when he held her in his arms and danced with her a month ago. When her heart raced and she found she was more attracted to him than what was healthy for her peace of mind.

But he’d made his point clear on what he was looking for and no amount of smooth talking ever let her fall for a one-night stand. She wanted the real thing. She wanted something that lasted a lifetime or at least had the potential for it. And Connor Landers wasn’t that.

He laughed at her comment and she was glad to know she hadn’t offended him. Though from her short interaction with him before, she guessed his feelings never got hurt. “So show me this house. It doesn’t look to me like it has a beach out back.”

“It doesn’t,” she said. “But I’m sure you noticed the beach only two houses over that you passed. Every house in the development has rights to multiple beaches.”

“But I want my own personal beach. I’m greedy that way.”

She figured he’d be that way. “Then let me show the house and you can let me know what you like or dislike for future reference.”

“I’ve got nothing but time on my hands today. So show me what you’ve got.”

She turned back toward the house wondering if she should be thinking about the double meaning he clearly threw her way.

***

Connor was holding back his laugh. He loved surprising people and had a feeling Melissa Mahoney hadn’t put his email inquiry together with the guy who had tried to convince her to spend the night with him at Erik’s wedding. If she had, she probably would have said she wasn’t interested in working with him, just like she’d turned him down flat that night.

He wasn’t used to that, to being told he couldn’t have what he wanted. At least not in the past several years. When he was younger he got what he wanted all the time too. Until he was put in his place and told he had to earn it. So he did.

Then he found other ways to get what he wanted. He found other ways to get the need for adventure and attention out of his system without causing pain or embarrassment to others. Everyone he was with knew what they were getting with him. He was upfront and honest at all times.

He watched Melissa walking in front of him, her curvy body in her slim skirt, fitted top and kick ass killer heels. She was on the short side, made more significant by his six foot one height. He’d bet he was close to a foot taller than her. He’d always been drawn toward tall and thin, but something about Melissa put all those other women he’d been with in the past out of his mind.

She showed him around the two-story house, one that wasn’t to his liking at all, and he made a point of informing her of that. She didn’t get ruffled, didn’t do anything more than jot down notes and ask more specific questions.

Keeping it businesslike. Damn.

“Well,” she said, “I do have another house to show you. It does have its own personal beach, but the house is in need of a lot of work.”

That wasn’t what he wanted at all, but he wasn’t ready to end his day with her. Might as well keep his options open just in case. “Sure. Let’s see what it has to offer.”

“You can follow me there, then.”

He climbed on his bike and waited for her to pull out of the driveway, then followed her through the same development.

He shut his bike off and got out to follow her to the back of the house they just stopped at. “We can look at the beach first since that seems to be your top criteria.”

“Sounds good.” Anything to get more of a view of her walk. His hands were itching to touch her again, but he wouldn’t be that bold.

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked.

“I’m a doctor.”

She stopped and turned. “Really? None of your paperwork indicated that.”

Again, he surprised her. He wasn’t sure why she seemed so shocked though. “I don’t need to announce my profession.”

“Very true. So what kind of doctor?”

“Neurology. University of Maryland, but my office is out of Annapolis.”

“Are you looking for a second home or to move here permanently?”

A second home had been his original thought, but now he wasn’t sure. “I haven’t decided at the moment. I guess it depends on how good you are.”

She blushed and he knew she got his meaning.

 

 

It’s that time again. Here is a sneak peek of Beach Love.  It’s just 99 cents!

Prologue

Connor looked around the white sterile room. No windows, no color, no one but him sitting there with a cold sweat running down his back.

He wasn’t sure why he was nervous; it wasn’t his first visit here. Probably wouldn’t be his last.

Twenty minutes had passed, he figured. He didn’t have his phone to look at. That had been taken from him when they escorted him into the building. He didn’t even get his one phone call to make. Something was different this time and he wasn’t sure what, but had a feeling he might not like it.

When he heard feet coming down the hall, he expected an officer to open the door and then be followed in by his father.

He was only half right. An officer opened the door. He wasn’t followed in by his father, but rather his grandfather. Not good.

Andrew Landers nodded to the officer to leave the room and then walked over to where Connor was sitting, staring into eyes the same color as his. Ice blue. His grandfather’s stare was cold. Connor’s not so much with the fear currently filling them.

“What are you doing here?” Connor asked. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your parents are at some gala or another one of those frivolous things your mother drags him to.”

Nothing new there. His parents were never home and couldn’t be bothered with their own child.

“So Dad called you?” Connor couldn’t imagine that happening. He’d kind of figured he’d be sitting here for a few hours while his parents finished their night out. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d made him wait. He was used to it by now.

“Not likely. I’ve got friends in the department. My guess is they’re fed up with your parents doing nothing about your behavior and decided to go over their head hoping someone would put an end to it.”

Connor’s father was a high-priced defense attorney in Baltimore. He had no shortage of wealthy clients or friends on the force. His grandfather on the other end was a real estate mogul who had no shortage of people that would bow at his feet for attention while pushing anyone out of their way. His parents had been known to lead the pack shoving people aside.

“So now what?” Connor asked, knowing there was no way he was just going to be able to get up and walk out like when his father came and got him in the past.

“Now you listen to me,” his grandfather said, standing with his arms crossed opposite of where Connor was sitting. He knew better than to even consider looking away or standing up. Nor would his grandfather sit down.

“I was just driving down the road,” Connor said, trying to defend himself.

When his grandfather leaned his hands on the table and inched his face closer to Connor’s, he forced himself not to shrink back. “You were drag racing in that stupid Mustang GTO your mother bought you for your birthday six months ago. Drag racing is illegal. You’re sixteen. I could have them pull your license right now if I wanted.”

No kid wanted their new license taken away. His parents would never consider doing that, but his grandfather would have it done in a heartbeat.

“Is that what’s going to happen?” he asked, making sure his voice didn’t shake like the rest of him desperately wanted to do.

“Nope. You’re going to listen to me though. I know why you do what you do. I know you want your parents’ attention. You’ve been trying to get it your whole life. How’s that working out for you so far?”

Connor didn’t agree or deny it. It seemed he didn’t need to. So he continued to sit there staring at the only person who ever really paid much attention to him. Then he watched as his grandfather pulled something from inside of his suit jacket. It was after ten at night and his grandfather still showed up in a suit.

“What’s that?” Connor asked.

His grandfather unfolded the piece of paper and dropped it on the table. “Your trust fund.” Connor looked it over, astonished at the number staring back at him. “And this is a lighter.”

He snapped his head up fast, then watched as his grandfather picked the paper up, produced a flame and brought the paper close. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered, knowing his face resembled freshly fallen snow.

“This is your last chance, Connor,” he said when he closed the top, extinguishing the flame. “Don’t think I won’t. And don’t think your parents will give you one. They’re living off your father’s now since your mother spends more than what your father brings in. They’ll have no problem cutting you off at eighteen so they can spend less on you.”

Connor believed that. “What do I need to do?”

“Make me proud,” his grandfather said simply. Like that was something simple to even accomplish.

“How?”

“By making yourself proud first.” Then his grandfather left the room.

Connor didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he sat there. Thirty minutes or more went by, easily, and an officer opened the door, looking shocked to see Connor at the table. “Still here?”

“Can I leave?”

The officer laughed. “I thought you left with your grandfather. I need this room now. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Connor got up and walked out, telling himself it was time to make some decisions. Time to grow up.

My last little teaser of Finding Love! It will be released on June 5th!! You can read the prologue to catch up.

My Heroes

“Cheers,” Melissa said, holding her beer up to Sheldon, the two of them clinking their glasses together.

“I never thought I’d get it done on time,” Sheldon said, taking a big gulp, relishing the sweet tangy taste of a cold one on a warm spring day. Exactly what she needed.

“Why did this one take so long?”

Sheldon reached for a brownie and took a bite. “It didn’t feel right. I was almost done, actually doing the final read through and then I just changed it. Changed my hero’s characteristics, which then changed the whole dynamics. I’ve never done that before.”

“Why now?” Melissa asked. “What was so different about this one?”

Sheldon shrugged, then flinched when she felt heat in her stomach and put her beer down. Maybe she shouldn’t be drinking alcohol and eating sweets on an empty stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate any real food.

“He was too cynical. Then I couldn’t turn it around enough in my eyes. I needed him sweeter. Nicer. Not a pushover, but not so mean either. He ended up being mean and I don’t like writing my heroes that way.”

Which was surprising because it wasn’t as if she really believed in sweet guys. Caring guys. Lovey-dovey or anything else. Though she wrote them that way.

Actually, most of her life, all she’d ever been was cynical herself. She had no reason to believe in happy ever after. It’s not like she’d ever experienced it, or even seen it in person. Books and movies, sure. Real life? Nope. Not happening.

Maybe that was why she could write it so well. It was all make believe anyway. She’d always had a vivid imagination…might as well make a living off it.

The problem with this last book was, she made the hero too nasty. Too cynical. More like she was. She was smart enough to know not many wanted to read that. Not for the series she was writing. Not unless she could make the hero find his faults, and she couldn’t.

Love and happy ever after sold books.

Sweet, caring, strong men were desired.

Hot muscular men sought after.

Assholes, not so much. Her last hero was an asshole and there was no saving him.

“Well, it’s over with. Now you can relax for a while before you start the next one.”

“A few weeks. I need the break,” Sheldon said. “This one really wrung me out. Next time I won’t try to make my hero so rough to begin with.” Rough was fine. Was even good. Being a dick wasn’t. She wasn’t sure why she even attempted it this time.

Well, that was wrong. She knew why she attempted it. Before she started this book almost two months ago—plenty enough time to meet her deadline—she’d gotten a call from her father. She hadn’t heard from him in months. He wanted to make amends in his life. She’d brushed him off.

Then she felt guilty. But rather than call him back and find out what was going on, she decided to funnel all that pent-up anger and childhood memories into her book. Cynical men. Assholes. Pricks. Yep, her father inspired that one.

Stupid on her part to let him affect anything in her life at this point.

And thinking of her father made her stomach hurt again. Strong enough that she brought her hand down and around her stomach and ground her teeth.

“Hey,” Melissa said. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I noticed my stomach hurting a few weeks ago. It comes and goes. But this is the worst it’s been. Maybe it’s the alcohol.”

“When was the last time you ate something?” Melissa asked, eying her hard. Melissa was her best friend and knew her better than anyone. They’d lived on the same street for the two years since Sheldon moved to Kent Island. The bottom part of Kent Island. Not that the Island was all that big, but she liked being a little out of the way.

The development she lived in made her feel like she wasn’t so alone, but it was far enough away that she didn’t have to deal with too much interference from the outside world. Everything she needed was less than a twenty-minute drive whether it was on the island or off. Good enough for her.

“I just had a bite of that brownie,” Sheldon said, grinning, then grabbing her side again. Wow, a grin caused it to hurt. Burn. Like fire. Not good.

“Besides the brownie,” Melissa said, putting her own beer down, standing up, and walking away to look in Sheldon’s fridge. She wouldn’t find much there.

“Crackers. Maybe last night. I don’t remember.”

“How much coffee have you been drinking?” Melissa asked, opening and closing cabinets. Yeah, they were pretty bare too. It’d been what, two weeks since she went to the store.

“You want it in cups or pots?”

“Sheldon!”

“Deadlines,” she reminded Melissa.

“Let’s go,” Melissa said.

“Where?”

“Urgent Care.”

“It’s just a stomachache. I’ll get some food in me and be fine.”

“It’s not just a stomachache because there’s nothing in your stomach to ache. Nothing but caffeine and probably acid.”

Sheldon glanced at the clock. “Urgent care has been closed for two hours. I’ll make some toast and it’ll be fine. If not, then I’ll call my doctor tomorrow.” But when Sheldon stood up to find some bread, she doubled over in pain. “Maybe I’ll just sit here until it passes instead.”

“Nope. We are going to Queenstown.”

“I don’t want to go to the emergency room,” she whined.

“Too bad. Maybe you should have taken better care of yourself instead of playing with your fictional characters.”

“I should teach them to cook for me. Then I’d be fine,” Sheldon said laughing, then grabbed her side again. Yeah, she wasn’t being stupid; she knew something was wrong. Time to listen to Melissa.

“Move, or I’m carrying you. And we both know then I’d need to be seen in the ER too.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Sheldon said laughing. The two of them barely weighed two-fifty combined, with Sheldon being five foot five and Melissa five foot three.

“Please. Don’t be cute. You couldn’t be fat if you wanted to be. It’s not fair you’re lighter than me and taller.”

“Five pounds and two inches. Get over it.”

“It’s probably more than five pounds now. So move it.”

“Geez. Why didn’t I know you could be this pushy,” Sheldon said, but she started walking just the same. Thankfully the burning pain had subsided enough for her to move.

This wasn’t exactly how she planned on spending her night celebrating.

***

“Dr. McMann, there’s an abdominal pain in three.”

“Thanks,” he said, moving away from the nurse’s station with his laptop in his hand. He scanned over the chart before he pushed the curtain aside. “So you’re having abdominal pain today?” He looked up and saw a young woman on the bed, her knees up to her chest, her feet bare. She had a pair of extremely tiny shorts on, not covering much of her toned thin legs.

“Yes,” she said, her face pale and a little sweaty.

“When did it start?”

“A few hours ago.”

The friend sitting next to her snorted. “More like weeks ago, but Sheldon keeps ignoring it.”

“You are?” he asked the woman sitting in a chair next to the bed.

“Melissa Mahoney. I’m Sheldon’s best friend. She lies. Don’t believe anything she says.”

Erik looked at his patient on the bed, frowning at her friend now. “What the heck, Melissa.”

Her friend just laughed. “Sorry, Dr….” She paused and looked at his lab coat. “Dr. McMann. Sheldon likes to play down things. I’ll be honest. Her pain has been on and off for weeks, but tonight she doubled over with it. If I didn’t all but drag her by the hair to get her here, she’d still be at home trying to eat some toast.”

“Toast?” Erik said. “Is that the last thing you ate?” The pain might be passing, because his patient’s face was turning pink rather than ghostly white.

“No,” Sheldon said. “I had a bite of Melissa’s brownie before my stomach started to hurt.” She turned her head and glared at her friend. “Maybe you caused it.”

“Ha. You wish.” Melissa turned to him. “She hasn’t had much more than crackers and coffee by the gallon for the last two weeks.”

“Hmm,” he said. He wasn’t sure what to make of these two. The friend was being honest, which was helpful. Sheldon was glaring at her like she wanted to ring her friend’s neck, yet there was something underlying too. A teasing of sorts. Not his concern right now. “Why aren’t you eating much? Are you under a lot of stress? Other abdominal issues?”

“I had a deadline to meet. It’s my own fault. I wasn’t taking care of myself. I’ll admit it. But I met my deadline and can just relax for a few weeks now. I’m sure it’s nothing. Once I get some food in me, I’ll be fine.”

“Real food,” Melissa said.

“You brought over the brownies and beer. Maybe you should have cooked me dinner.”

“So you were drinking alcohol too?” Erik asked before the two of them could go at it again.

“A sip,” Sheldon said.

“She’s telling the truth,” Melissa said.

“Okay. Lie back and let me examine you.” Sheldon stretched out on the bed as best as she could and he lifted her small T-shirt up a bit, then started to press around on her belly. When she flinched, he held his hands there. “Tender?”

“Yeah.”

He tugged her shirt back down. “Any other symptoms? Heartburn? Vomiting? Diarrhea?” He paused when both women let out a laugh. “Am I missing something here?”

“No,” Sheldon said. “Melissa is like a ten-year-old. She giggles at all bodily functions and words. I knew she would so I did too. It’s a knee jerk. And no to all of your questions. Just pain. Maybe a little bit of an acid taste. I guess that’s heartburn, but I’ve never had it before.”

He nodded his head. “I’m going to have some blood drawn, then send you for an upper GI and some X-rays.”

“What do you think it could be?” Sheldon asked.

He closed the lid on his laptop. “Well, Ms. Case, I’m not sure what type of deadline you had to meet, but my guess is your job is extremely stressful and you’ve got an ulcer. You might need to consider a new career.”

Both girls burst out laughing. What was he missing now?

“I’m self-employed, Dr. McMann. My job isn’t stressful in the least.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’d say the fact you are sitting in the ER might suggest something else.”

“Well, see what those tests say first,” Sheldon said. “But in this case, my career choice doesn’t have a lot to do with it, I’m positive.”

“And your career is?” He hadn’t seen it on her chart.

“I write romance novels. Love and happy ever after. Not a lot of stress in that.”

He wasn’t expecting her to say that. Not that he knew what a romance writer looked like, but it wasn’t her. Her chart said she was twenty-seven, but she looked younger.

Maybe he expected sophistication with a writer and not someone in jean shorts, flip flops on the floor next to the bed, a tiny T-shirt and her hair in a ponytail. Her friend didn’t look much different.

He was going to dispute her claim about stress, but figured for the moment it wasn’t his concern. He was just going to run his tests and get the results he was expecting to find.

“Well then. The nurse will show you where to go for the tests and I’ll put a rush on the results. We’ll get you as good as new so that you can get back to writing those love stories,” he added, smiling, then winking.

When he walked beyond the curtain he heard them laughing again. Did he really just say that? And wink at her?

What was wrong with him?