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to be a saint. But love?
    Xan made it a policy never to date his patients. He wasn't sure, since Maura ran away before he'd actually examined her, if she could be considered a patient. "Why did you run away this afternoon?" he asked.
    She could never tell him that. Not in a million years. "Because I changed my mind," she retorted, willing the blush to fade.
    "Something wrong with my office staff? Something about me that offended you?" His voice was gruff, and his eyes burned into her as though they could see the very corners of her soul.
    "I—had another appointment," she said weakly.
    "There must have been more to it than that. Since you're a midwife yourself, I can hardly imagine that you would be squeamish about the physical part of the examination."
    "No, of course not," she said. "I had another appointment. Can't we let it go at that?"
    He paused to think about it. "For the time being, I suppose we can," he said, relenting out of kindness. She appeared shaken. He looked at her, reappraising her. He'd thought she was sensible, and he still thought so. But there was a vulnerability in her gentle, soft eyes. He liked the way her magnificently high and elegantly constructed cheekbones curved precisely into long planes ending in a strong jaw and squared-off chin. Despite the vulnerability, it was altogether a face of strong character. She must have a good reason for being evasive.
    "Well, then," Xan said lightly, "let's talk about something else."
    "Must we talk?" she said, her voice trembling even though she fought to control it. "I'm exhausted."
    "You're all wrought up from the emotion in there," he said, gesturing toward the door of the cabin. "Talking will help coast you down from that high you're on."
    "So you know about that," she said, surprised.
    "Of course. I feel it myself. Often after a difficult delivery I go home so revved up I can't sleep. It's then that I wish there was someone to talk to so I could wind down."
    "You have no one?"
    "I live alone," he said, and the conversation paused for several beats while she took in the significance of this statement. Then he said more quietly, his voice low, "How did you happen to be here when Annie needed you?"
    "The question I have is, how did you happen not to be here when she needed you? She's your patient." Maura met his eyes with a boldness that he would not have expected from her. Nor would she have expected it from herself a few short months ago. But now such audacity was emerging as part of her character.
    She had put him on the defensive, but he respected her for it. In fact he would have had the same question if their places had been reversed.
    Quickly he told her how Cindy had called just before he'd had to report to the hospital and how he hadn't seen Annie Bodkin since the first two times she'd visited him for prenatal care. "Really," he told her, "I'm glad you were here."
    His eyes shone with sincerity, and Maura was astonished. She'd expected him to be jealous of her competence or, at the very least, overly defensive.
    "I wouldn't have been here either if my minivan hadn't broken down," said Maura.
    Xan recalled that when he'd been looking for the Bodkins' house, he'd been curious about the scabrous vehicle with its splayed and worn tires. He'd thought it looked out of place parked on the lonely stretch of road. "Is your car the minivan next to the Shuffletown highway with Pringle's Florists—We Deliver on its side?"
    Maura laughed, easing up a bit. "That's right. I've only had it for a couple of months. I'm going to paint over the Pringle's Florists part, but I thought I'd leave on the We Deliver."
    "You're so right—it is appropriate," he said, and they laughed together. It made him happy to see her relaxing and letting go.
    When they'd stopped laughing and the silence grew up around them, he said carefully, "Sounds as though you're stuck here with no way to get home."
    "I guess so. Just one thing—do we consider Annie your patient or mine?" There was a