Resisting Her Rebel Hero by Lucy Ryder

fevers came in earlier. We’re waiting for spots to appear but in the meantime we’ve got our hands full with cranky little people demanding attention every second. Through that door,” she said, gesturing behind him. “I made her take a break. Who knows what will happen during the night with a bunch of miserable little people.” And then she was gone.
    Sam stared after her for a moment, wondering if his mouth was hanging open. He hadn’t had an opportunity to utter so much as a grunt. Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the privacy door she’d indicated. He pushed it open and immediately heard talking.
    So much for resting up for a rough night, he thought darkly. Ignoring the fact that she was free to entertain whomever she pleased, he let the door shut silently behind him and headed down the corridor. What he found wiped all dark thoughts from his head.
    Shoving a shoulder against the doorframe, Sam folded his arms across his chest and let his eyes take a slow journey up long denim-clad legs perched halfway up a ladder. Doc Boston was alone and muttering to herself about something that sounded like bedpans and floor polish as she consulted the clipboard in her hand.
    She turned a page to skim it from top to bottom and then back again, before huffing out a breath and turning another page, oblivious to his presence.
    “You have got to be kidding,” she muttered with a sound of disgust. “Who puts bedpans with surgical scrubs? This system sucks.” She froze as though she’d said something indecent then shook her head with a laugh. “Yes, Cassidy, you can use the word ‘sucks’ without the world imploding.” She exhaled as she studied the clipboard, her breath disturbing silvery blonde curls near her face. “Besides, if someone can walk around with a T-shirt saying ‘ Eat the Worm ’ or ‘ Loggers do it with big poles ’ in public, you can certainly say ‘sucks’ in private without it being followed by lightning bolts.”
    Sam grinned. “You sure about that, Doc?” he drawled, making her shriek and jump about a mile into the air. She grabbed for the shelf with one hand and the ladder with the other. The clipboard and pen went flying, her boot slipped and with a panicked shriek she went flying as well.
    Without thinking, Sam leapt towards her. She landed against his chest with a thud, knocking the breath from them both. He staggered back against the wall and wrapped one arm securely around her back. The other he clamped around her thighs.
    Planting his feet wide to accommodate his curvy armful, he grinned into shocked green eyes, conscious of lush pink lips forming a perfectly round O—which for some reason made him think of hot, wet kisses in the dark—an inch from his.
    “I... You... Oh... God ,” she wheezed out, fisting her hand in his T-shirt and sounding about as coherent as Cindy Dawson in the third-grade spelling bee when Frankie Ferguson had let go with a loud burp right there on stage.
    She sucked in a shaky breath and uttered one word. “ You! ” Making him wonder if she was relieved to see him or cursing him. He suspected the latter.
    “Expecting someone else?” The idea did not appeal.
    “I...uh... You...” She shut her mouth with an audible snap and swiped her tongue across her lips. Then, realizing how provocative her action might appear—especially as his gaze had dropped to her mouth—she rolled her eyes and shoved against his chest. “Put me down.”
    “‘I...uh... You’?” Sam lifted his brow, ignoring her order. “You’ve developed a stutter since I last saw you?”
    “ Dammit , you scared the hell out of me,” she snapped, and shoved at his shoulders again.
    Both brows hiked up his forehead. “ Hell ?” He was enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the light fruity scent of her hair. He was enjoying seeing her flustered when she was normally so poised. “Doc, Doc, Doc ,” he tutted, shaking his head. “First ‘suck’ and now ‘Dammit’ and