Her glance darted to Matt, and guilt slapped splashes of color high across her cheeks. They had kissed. She'd sat right on his bed and let him kiss her.

And Jacob had been scrambling up the tree just outside the window.

“Why were you climbing that tree?” she asked.

Her brother's eyes were round and innocent. He shrugged and talked around a mouthful of cookie. “Because it was there.”

“The perfect reason,” Matt said with a grin.

With the enthusiasm of a lumberjack, he ate the breakfast Sarah had fixed him. It had been ages since he'd had a big, calorie-laden, homemade breakfast. He usually took no time for breakfast, grabbing a peanut butter sandwich or a bagel on his way to the hospital. With his strength at low tide, however, he had no trouble convincing himself that he needed something more substantial. The eggs and fried potatoes and toast went down nicely.

He reached for a cookie and shook it at his new little compadre. “You'll have to be a little more careful next time, pal. Climbing trees is a lot of fun, but it's a long way down and there isn't always a pile of leaves handy to land on.”

Jacob nodded as he drank, some milk sloshing out to dribble down his chin. He wiped it off with his good arm and chomped another bite out of his cookie.

Sarah settled herself in her chair and set herself to the task of mending the tear in her brother's jacket sleeve.

“How far up were you?” she asked, feeling like a weasel for trying to wheedle information out of him. She was no better than her father was for sending him here. Poor Jacob.

“Not far.”

“This is not the place for you to be climbing trees,” she scolded, more cross with herself than with her brother. “The Woods often have guests here who would not appreciate looking out their windows to see little Amish boys staring in at them.”

So that was what the interrogation was all about, Matt mused, chewing thoughtfully on his cookie. Sarah was afraid her brother might have caught them kissing. Strange. She was a grown woman. She'd been married for heav-ens sake. What difference would it make if someone saw them kissing?

He watched her as she worked the needle and thread through the fabric of the coat with vicious stabs and jerks that betrayed her inner agitation. Several strands of silky brown hair had escaped the stranglehold of the bun at the back of her head and drifted down along her cheek into her line of sight. She tucked them back up under her kapp without looking up. She looked like a living work of art—“Study of a Nineteenth-century Woman.” A nineteenth-century woman with nineteenth-century sensibilities.

That was it. She was shy, reserved. The idea appealed to Matt in a way he wouldn't have expected. He was used to women who knew the score, women who moved at a nineteen-nineties pace, women who often as not took the lead in a physical relationship. Compared to them, Sarah was untouched, untried, innocent. Once again he felt a strong surge of pro-tectiveness swell inside him, and tenderness … and desire.

He wasn't going to be able to act on any of those impulses at the moment, however, he re alized with no small amount of regret. Ordinarily, he was relentless in his pursuit of something he wanted—especially when that something was a lady. But his exertions that morning had drained him. Fatigue weighed down on him like an anvil, pressing on his throbbing head, causing the muscles in his shoulders to tense. His ribs were aching, and the wound in his thigh was burning. He needed to lie down before he simply fell out of his chair and sprawled unconscious on the kitchen floor.

“Well, folks,' he announced, carefully standing up. “I think I'd better get back to bed. All this excitement has worn me out,” he said, sending Sarah a warm, meaningful look that caused her to frown and blush.

“You English sure keep strange habits,” Jacob said, reaching for his third cookie.

Sarah batted his hand away from the plate, scowling at him. “Have they set you out to live with the pigs at home? You have such manners.”

Jacob blushed.

“I don't usually spend the day in bed,” Matt explained, unperturbed. “I'm just not feeling so good right now.”

“Maybe you need some castor oil,” Jacob suggested. “That's what Mom always gives me.”

Matt grimaced. “I think I'll pass on that for now.”

“When you are better, Matt Thorne, I will show you how I ride my pony,' the boy said earnestly. “You can come to the farm. To the calves I will show you. It's my job to feed them and help clean their pens.”

“Gross,” Matt said with a wink.

Jacob giggled.

Sarah heaved a sigh and stuck herself accidentally with her needle.

The rest of the day did not go according to the Laws of Dr. Thorne, and Matt didn't care for it a bit. He was too used to being the boss, to being in control. Being an invalid did not sit well. Everything seemed to irritate him. The room was too light, too dark, he missed the noises of the city, he missed the energy, he missed being busy, he missed being able to do whatever he wanted to with his body.

He had gone upstairs after breakfast with the mistaken idea that a little nap would restore the strength he had spent that morning. He'd slept for six hours, awakened only long enough to take his medication and complain a little, then he'd gone under again.

This was no way to win a lady.

It was especially no way to win a lady who wouldn't stick around long enough for him to charm her. Sarah had made herself scarce, leaving only a little bell on the nightstand in her stead.

Matt plumped up the pillows behind him and settled back. He could smell supper cooking. The scent of meat and potatoes drifted seductively up the stairs. Sarah was down in the kitchen cooking for him. What a good wife she would make. Not that he was looking for a wife or knew anything about wives specifically. He'd never been in the market for one himself. It just seemed to him that Sarah would be good at all the traditional wife things. Well, she had been a wife, hadn't she?

He had always been too busy working to think about marriage. He'd spent far more time at the hospital in the last six years than he had at his apartment.

And for what? a cynical voice questioned deep inside him. The words seemed to echo in a hollow cavern in his chest. Once he'd been full of smart answers to that question. Now he just sat there feeling burned out and anxious all at once. He loved being a doctor. He loved having people look to him for help and being able to help them. It was just that something vital was missing now and he didn't know what to do about it. He missed the bustle of the hospital and yet a part of him didn't want to go back. For the first time in his life he didn't really know what he wanted.

Supper, he thought, pushing the fears and uncertainties from his mind with an ill-tempered shove. He wanted supper and he wanted company. He rang the littie bell on the stand, then winced as Blossom rushed into the room and howled at him, apparently taking exception to the high-pitched sound.

“Why couldn't Ingrid have a cat?” he asked crossly, as Sarah appeared in the doorway with a dinner tray.

Sarah frowned at him. Blossom frowned at him. Matt rolled his eyes and pouted.

“I hate being sick,” he complained as Sarah placed the tray across his lap. “I hate the idea that someone else is running my ER, seeing my patients—”

“Flirting with your nurses?”

He glanced up at her as she shook out the proper dose of his various medications into her hand. Her mouth quirked at the corners with that knowing little smile, but the expression in her eyes was soft and a little uncertain. What a bundle of contradictions she was— innocence and sass; a woman in most respects, but with such an air of naivete about her. She fascinated him and that fascination took the edge off his foul mood. Something about just having her in the room made him feel more relaxed.

His gaze drifted from her hands with their trimmed, unpolished nails to her breasts, to the bottom Up she pulled between her teeth as she fought with the safety cap on one of the pill bottles. Desire stirred lazily in his groin. Maybe relaxed wasn't exactly the word.

“I&ll have you know, flirting is a very serious business where I come from,” he said.

“Hmmm. Well, you've been getting plenty of practice here then, haven't you?”

He swallowed the pills she gave him and washed them down with water. The delectable meal on the tray drew his attention, and he let his gaze wander over it as he spoke. “There's no such thing as too much practice. Perfection is strived for but never achieved.”

Sarah gave him a look that told him she wasn't swallowing any of his malarkey. It was a practiced look, one she had perfected as a defense to keep people from thinking they could get the better of her.

“Enjoy your supper,” she said, forcing herself to take a step toward the door. “Just ring when you want me to come take the tray away.”

Matt felt a pang in his midsection that had nothing to do with his cracked ribs. “You're not leaving already, are you? Why don't you stay awhile and let me work on my bedside manner?”

“You're on the wrong side of the bed,” Sarah pointed out.

He gave her his most winning, devilish smile, the one that always made the nurses— even the starchiest ones—giggle. “That all depends on your point of view, Amish.”

Sarah looked down at him, impossibly handsome and rumpled, his dark eyes twinkling. She thought of his reputation and her reckless streak and the stricken looks her family would give her. She thought of the sheltered world in which she lived and the violent, sophisticated one Matt Thorne dealt with every day with a wink and a grin. And she saw very clearly that there was a point where her little adventure would become something she wouldn't be able to handle.

She came to the conclusion that while Matt Thorne was worldly enough to play word games and tease and kiss her without meaning anything by it, she was not worldly at all. And the needs she kept so carefully leashed inside her had been too long denied to resist much temptation. Matt was a ladies' man; Ingrid had told her as much. But she was not a lady. She was just a plain young woman who wanted too many things she couldn't have. Matt would stay here until he was healed and then he would leave, and she would be the one left hurting.

“I have other duties to see to,” she said softly. It was almost a fib, but she didn't think almost should count for much. There were pots to wash and dusting to do. Mainly there was her virtue to safeguard and her heart to protect.

“There can't be that much,” Matt protested. “How many other guests are staying here right now?”

“None. But four are coming for the weekend and there are things that must be done.”

“They can't wait five minutes? Come on, Sarah, just stay for a little while and tell me about your family. I like your little brother. Do you have any big ones I should worry about?”

Sarah sighed and dutifully recited the list of Mausts. “There are Peter and Daniel, older than me. They are sons of my father's first wife who died in childbirth. Lucas, Ruth, and Jacob are the younger ones still at home. There now, you know all about us. I will come back later for the tray.”

With that she turned on the heel of one sensible black shoe and left the room, leaving Matt sputtering.

“But—but—what about me?” he demanded.

Sarah was already gone. Blossom remained in the doorway, giving him the evil eye and a soft woof that set her droopy jowls jiggling. Then the dog abandoned him too.

Matt sat back against the pillows, thunderstruck. Women just didn't resist him like that. Lord, had the beating he'd received somehow knocked the magnetism out of him? There was a frightening idea. He speared a chunk of roast beef and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

No, no, he reflected, that wasn't the case at all. Sarah was attracted. He'd seen it in her eyes, tasted it in her kiss. Lord, that sweet kiss! She was scared. She needed a little wooing, that was all. Well, hell, there weren't many better at that than he was, he reflected with typical doctors' arrogance.

He'd start fresh after dinner. He'd go downstairs and just woo the sensible shoes right off her. There was something special about the sparks he felt inside when Sarah was near. They were brighter than any he'd felt recently. They made him feel enthusiastic about life. He wanted to explore that feeling. He wanted to see it reflected in Sarah's eyes. Something deep inside him ached with hunger for it. And he was going to start right after dinner, he thought as the pills kicked in and his eyelids began to pull down like weighted drapes. His fork had dropped over the edge of the bed, and Blossom scampered in from the hall to snatch the meat off the lines.