The Right Medicine

  THE RIGHT MEDICINE

  By

  Ginny Baird

  Published by

  Winter Wedding Press

  Copyright 2012

  Ginny Baird

  Kobo Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9851235-3-6

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient, unless this book is a participant in a qualified lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to export portions of the text, please contact the author at GinnyBairdRomance@gmail.com.

  Characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Edited by Martha Trachtenberg

  Cover by Dar Albert

  The Right Medicine

  Carly slammed her hammer onto the uneven slats of the wraparound porch and sat on a weathered step. She wasn’t so sure she liked country life. All afternoon, it seemed, she’d been trying to pound a series of stubborn nails into the warped wood of this old porch, but none were willing to hold.

  Here she was, a thirty-two-year-old divorcée in the throes of PMS, not a pint of Walt and Winston’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream within a twenty-mile radius. Life was hell, she decided, tucking a sweaty strand back into the tight band holding her ponytail. Well, not exactly hell... She squinted through the midday glare at the brown and gray hills before her. It was beautiful, she had to admit. Beautiful and serene. Just what the kids needed after her rugged divorce.

  The circumstances had caught her off guard. Initially, she hadn’t a clue what her next move would be. Peter was the one with the ready answers. Where he would go. Paris. What he would do. Marry Jenny. Of course that was perfect for him, Carly’d told him. What with Becky just ten and Jonathan almost seven, he’d had so much experience with children. Jenny, a fashion magazine favorite, was barely twenty-two.

  Carly tugged the scrunchie from her honey hair, letting its fine wisps fall to her well-defined shoulders as they had in high school. No perky cheerleader by any stretch, serious-minded Carly had played lacrosse instead. Athletically inclined was how Peter used to define her, with a naughty grin. A grin she’d found irresistible in those early days. Days when Peter, a fledgling photojournalist, had been young and lithe himself. The tragedy was, in fourteen years he’d scarcely changed a bit, while the grueling demands of childbirth and a critical care nurse’s schedule had altered Carly’s figure, leaving her with more hips than muscle. Still, she considered herself attractive in a womanly way and was confident that others saw it. Even if Peter couldn’t.

  Raw rubber crunched on gravel and Carly turned to see the bright orange school bus pulling up to the edge of her drive. Becky descended the metal steps, protesting loudly as her younger brother deliberately angled the corner of his notebook into her back.

  “Mom!” Becky cried, rushing up the hill, “he poked me!” Her auburn hair was on fire with sun, her freckles awash with perspiration. As she took in the wide-set evergreen eyes perfectly placed between two stunning pigtails, Carly couldn’t help but think that her lovely daughter was all Peter. Jonathan wasn’t far behind, his towhead disheveled, his face crimson. “Ma! She called me a geek! And right in front of my friends!”

  Carly stood to greet them. “All right, you two. Enough’s enough. Get on in the house and wash up. Surprises on the kitchen table.”

  All of a sudden, her two came alive with “oh-boys” and “ye-hahs,” high-fiving it all the way into the house. Carly rolled her eyes and scooped up the scattered nails, grateful she’d had the foresight to bake cupcakes early this morning. All she had the energy for now was a cup of hot tea and a shower. A warm man would be nice too, she found herself thinking. But she let that thought slide as she walked indoors and headed for the stove.

  Later that night, with homework and dishes done and the little ones tucked in, Carly had nothing but fading daylight to keep her company. She carried a hot cup of tea onto the porch to watch the setting sun send slivers of loneliness across the darkening mountains. They’d been here nearly nine months now. Carly’s gestation was nearly done. Soon she’d be assimilated. If not considered a native, at least a regular fixture in this small, unpretentious burg that provided an easy commute to her job at the hospital.

  Carly set her mug on the porch railing and stretched her legs into the empty rocker opposite her own. It had been Peter’s chair, but he’d left it behind when he’d gone. Too burdensome for Paris, Carly supposed. Something like a settled wife and two growing children... It felt odd using it as a footrest. Yet fitting somehow, too. She slipped her loafers off her throbbing feet, fighting the memory of a strong masculine hand around her instep, absorbing the tensions of the day.

  Now the burden was exclusively hers. When she ached, she took acetaminophen. When she cried, she pulled the pillows over her head so the children wouldn’t hear. When the sting of a life being cleaved in two seemed almost too much to bear, she tried to imagine she wouldn’t always be alone. But she understood the illusion for what it was. She’d left a world of greater opportunity for herself, in exchange for a more wholesome existence for her children.

  The trade-off was a demanding job with supervisory duties, an occupation that took her into town before the kids boarded the morning bus, but fortunately allowed her to get home before they returned each afternoon. The real downside to life in the rural community was the apparent lack of eligible bachelors. Not that Carly was looking. It was just that, if ever she were to change her mind, it would be nice to have the option. But at the hospital, everybody was married (and devoted), married (and cheating), married (to their work and not interested), or gay.

  On the bad days, it was particularly hard not having anyone to talk to. Not that Peter had completely comprehended the emotional toll her job sometimes took, but at least he’d been there to listen. Been there to rub her shoulders, bring her a glass of wine... Carly raised a hand to her cheek, finding moisture there. And she knew that what she’d come to seek in the country wasn’t just about the kids finding a better life. It had something to do with her feeling loved, as well.

  The call from the school nurse’s office was unexpected. Carly’s children had been phenomenally healthy this year. The two of them had missed school only once for two days running, having been simultaneously ill with a severe bout of stomach flu. Now she was being told that Becky had a temperature of one hundred and two and was complaining of a sore throat.

  Carly made certain a senior nurse could cover for her, then hurriedly made her way to the parking garage. She knew she’d make a round-trip to retrieve Becky from her elementary school and then bring her back here to get tested for strep. Then there’d be a prescription to fill. Carly checked the time on her cell before setting the car in gear. It all had to be done in the two hours and twenty minutes she had before Jonathan got off the school bus at home.

  Carly impatiently tapped her foot as she and Becky stood in line in the ancient pharmacy. In all the time they’d lived here, Carly’d only been in this place twice. Once to buy tampons, the other time to purchase a last-minute birthday card for her floor supervisor. By the grace of God, she’d never yet had to fill a prescription. Good thing too, she thought, checking the time again. If it had been anything serious, she’d have been dead by the time she’d gotten her medicine. This line wasn’t moving one bit.

  At that very moment, a low, rumbling laughter rose above the countertop. “Yes, Mrs. Williams,” he was saying, apparently into the phone, “not to worry one bit. Have that waiting for you by the time you get here.”

 
; Likely story, Carly thought, working her way up to the window. It was finally her turn. The old man ahead of her had just retrieved a labeled bag from a wide hand reaching through the glass, and was bidding good-bye to the jovial pharmacist, who urged him to say hello to... of all things... his dog, Nelly.

  Carly had endured just about enough of this and was ready to voice her complaint when she spied a small grocery sack through the murky pane. The pharmacist, his back to her, withdrew something from its rustling hollow that looked suspiciously like Walt and Winston’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, and stowed it in a small refrigerator.

  Carly’s heart rose in her throat as the pharmacist turned to greet her, and chestnut brown eyes fell on her own. An easy smile poured across his mustached lip. “Can I help you?” he asked with a casual grace, seeming to ignore her dumbstruck look.

  “Maybe you could tell me where you get your Walt and Winston’s?” she asked, feeling like a foolish girl at a Sadie Hawkins Dance. “I mean,” she continued awkwardly, “someplace nearby, where you and your wife pick it up?”

  “No wife,” he replied, his lips turned up slightly at the corners, his complexion taking on a ruddy hue. “Just me and a bunch of sick folks here.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Carly said, setting her prescription on the counter.

  There was a tug at her sleeve. She looked down and, for the first time in five minutes, recalled she had a daughter.

  “Aren’t we ready to go yet?” Becky asked, looking fragile and exhausted.

  “Not just yet, sweetie,” Carly answered, squeezing her daughter’s hand.

  “I’ll have this right up for you,” the pharmacist said kindly. He grinned at Carly in a way that sent all sorts of wild butterflies fluttering. “And, it’s at Kent's Store.”

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, lost in the heat of his stare.

  “The place where I pick up the ice cream. It’s over in Whitehall, near the vineyards. Do you know it?”

  Carly numbly shook her head.

  He laughed good-naturedly. “You must be new in town.”

  “Not brand new, but we’re still getting used to things. I mean, just me and the kids. It’s just the three of us.”

  “That so?” he asked, coloring from the neck up. “Well then, it sounds like you need someone to show you around. Or, at least, point you in the right direction--as far as Walt and Winston’s is concerned.”

  Carly smiled as he turned to fill her prescription, with a bright, melodious whistle. Maybe this move to the country wasn’t only going to be good for the children. Perhaps there was to be something special in it for her, too. In fact, she thought, feeling her face flush, this fresh start might be just what the doctor ordered... for all of them.

  The End

  A Note from the Author

  Thanks for reading The Right Medicine. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other people find this book.

  1. This book is lendable, so send it to a friend who you think might like it so that she (or he) can discover me, too.

  2. Help other people find this book: write a review.

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  6. Visit my website: http://www.ginnybairdromance.com for details on other books available at multiple outlets now.

  ALSO BY GINNY BAIRD

  The Sometime Bride

  Real Romance

  Santa Fe Fortune

  How to Marry a Matador

  The Christmas Catch

  The Holiday Bride

  Interested in hearing more from Ginny Baird?

  Please keep reading for extended excerpts from two of her novels,

  The Sometime Bride and Real Romance.

  THE SOMETIME BRIDE

  Carrie swirled the ladle nervously around the near-empty punch bowl. The shower had gone off without a hitch. She and Mike—uh, Wilson—had even gotten some lovely gifts. A blender, cooking utensils. Towels. All the nice little odds and ends that help make a newlywed house a home. This wasn’t such a good idea, after all. In fact, it was terrible. So many people had gone to so much time, trouble, and expense. Even Nellie’s place cards were beautiful. A keepsake for the happy couple. Carrie frowned at her murky reflection centered in the twirling ice ring.

  And to make matters worse, Mike had been an absolute champ. Everybody adored him implicitly. He’d been warm, witty, and charming the whole afternoon through. His act as her fiancé had almost even seemed real; at least his hugs and affectionate glances had seemed authentic enough. And those few unexpected kisses, though innocent enough in their placement—one at her temple, one on the back of her hand, the one at her neckline… Well, all right, maybe the one at her neck hadn’t seemed quite so innocent in intent as the others. But still, no matter where his kisses had landed, each time Mike had surprised her with the warm contact of his lips, her world had caved in and her heart had let go. Let go of any notion that this thing between them was little more than make-believe. Because, though words could deceive, feelings seldom lied, and when Mike brought his flesh to hers… Carrie dropped the ladle into the punch bowl as goose bumps tore down her spine.

  Carrie felt the hair swept from her nape. “Ready to leave?” Mike whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

  Carrie turned in surprise and found herself directly in his arms, her backside pinned against the table that held the punch bowl. “Never,” she said, bringing her arms up and around his neck and pulling him in close as their lips melded in the final consummation of what they’d both been desiring all afternoon.

  “Why don’t you kids run on home?” Grandma Russell asked, blinking the dining room chandelier on and off above them.

  Mike pulled back in a damp sweat. “Let’s!” he said, giving Carrie a firm, virgin peck on the lips.

  Chapter One

  Carrie St. John strode to the edge of the pool and tugged the ring from her finger. One year, six months, and four days exactly. Yank. The dang thing was stuck.

  Carrie looked down in frustration at the glittering diamond offset by tiny emeralds. Beautiful, yes. But—yank, the ring worked free of her knuckle and glided off her narrow upper finger—only a poor reminder of a relationship gone sour.

  Carrie clutched her hand around the meager gems, wondering if Wilson had paid more for them, he’d have been more reluctant to leave. Hogwash, she thought, tossing back her arm and prepping for a long throw. Wilson would have left regardless. And if it hadn’t been for Teresa, it would have been for someone else.

  But of all the rotten things to do! Take Carrie to a scenic country inn, then drop the bomb. More like a blazing comet, Carrie thought, feeling the raw burn in her heart as she lobbed the ring forward over the water. The engagement ring pitched in a perfect arch toward the water, then plopped beneath the surface with a deafening calm.

  Mike Davis ran a flat palm along the bumpy bottom surface of the pool. It had to be down here somewhere, darn it! Four months of hard-earned commission down the chlorinated drain!

  If Mike had had any inkling how callous Alexia could be, he would have never gone to the trouble. Not to mention the biting expense. Now if he couldn’t find the darned ring, he’d be set back financially for nothing!

  Already was set back financially for nothing, Mike reminded himself, feeling his lungs drain of air. This was his third dive under and still nothing doing.

  Hey, wait a minute…

  Mike fishtailed over to the center of the pool where something glistened against its bottom. Yep, that was it! Had to be…

  Mike swept toward the gemstone like an alligator on the prowl, then plucked the tiny ring off the pool bottom, examining it through the blurry haze caused by pool lights and chemicals. N
o way. But it was. Somebody else’s ring entirely. The ring Mike had presented to Alexia had been a solitaire.

  Despite years of high school swim-team accomplishments, Mike felt his wind quickly abating. He’d been down here too long, he realized, angling toward the surface and pressing his heels off the bottom.

  Mike rocketed skyward, another woman’s engagement ring clutched in his hand. Another woman who was likely just as heartless as his Alexia. When Adam gave his rib to Eve, Mike thought, breaking into the chill of the evening, the poor schmuck hadn’t realized the woman had plans to barbeque it!

  Carrie let out a shriek as water barreled forth and a man emerged from the center of the pool.

  He shook out his honey-blond head, then paddled over to the side where Carrie stood.

  “Lose something?” he asked as Carrie backed up a step.

  Carrie raised a hand to her cheek and stroked back hot tears. “Where on earth did you come from?” she demanded of this Poseidon-like god, whose eyes, she noticed, were as green as the Caribbean Sea. Though she didn’t know why she’d noticed, or—more importantly—why she particularly cared.

  “I came from the bottom of the pool,” he said, his tone not the least bit friendly. “Where I ran into a little something that might just be yours.”

  With that, he pulled his right hand out of the water and gingerly steadied Carrie’s engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger.

  Despite his hostile tone, Carrie grudgingly admitted that this swim god was actually quite attractive. Alarmingly attractive, in a way that would make most women swoon. But not Carrie, she told herself, backing up another step. Attractive meant trouble, and, in the last four hours, Carrie St. John had endured enough trouble to last a lifetime.