Marjorie mumbled grumpily to herself as she pulled the paper gown over her head and sighed with disgust when the opening for her arm hung far wider than necessary. Keeping her arms tucked close to her for fear the gown would reveal the sides of her breasts, she wrapped the tissue sheet around her waist and sat on the end of the paper-lined examination table. The whole idea of introducing herself to a man when she was nude felt ridiculous. All right, so he was a physician, but all that stood between her body and this stranger was a piece of tissue that felt as though a big sneeze would destroy it.

Her bare feet dangled, and she kicked at the air aimlessly. Her brilliant red toenails looked funny, and she absently decided to change the color. Next time she would use a more subdued shade.

Just when she had convinced herself she was wasting her time, a polite knock sounded at the door. The knob twisted, and Marjorie painted a welcoming smile on her lips, doing her best to swallow the panic that unexpectedly gripped her.

Dr. Sam Bretton entered the examination room, reading Marjorie’s chart, his wide brow furrowed as he took in the information.

The first thing Marjorie noticed was his stature. Five-foot-seven in her stocking feet, she’d never considered herself short, but this man dwarfed her. His shoulders were broad and fit his height. His chest was deep. He wore his hair short, and his sideburns were clipped neatly around his ears. A few strands of gray at his temple provided a distinguished, sophisticated touch. He was good-looking—not strikingly handsome, but attractive enough to give credence to Lydia’s and the other women’s claims. His eyes were a deep, dark shade of brown and the gentlest Marjorie had ever seen in a man. For an instant they mesmerized her into speechlessness. A stethoscope hung from his neck and rested against his broad, muscled chest.

“Ms. Majors.” Sam smiled at his newest patient. Mary, his receptionist, had come to him earlier and asked about fitting this young woman into his already tight schedule. A friend of Lydia Mason’s, Mary had said, and Sam had agreed because he was fond of Lydia. Later he’d regretted the impulse. His day had started early, and he was tired, but with one look at the wide, frightened eyes of the woman sitting on the examination table he realized he’d made the right decision. Rarely had he seen a more expressive pair of brown eyes. Marjorie Majors was as nervous as a young mother, and struggling valiantly to disguise it. Her chin trembled slightly, yet she met his gaze with pride and more mettle than he’d seen in years. She resembled a lost kitten he’d once found in a rainstorm; her wide eyes were round and appealing, and she looked as though she might turn and bolt at any moment.