The Doctor's Fake Fiancee Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

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  Their marriage bargain is just what the doctor ordered…

  Former surgeon and self-professed life-long bachelor Evan Manning has one thing on his mind—to reclaim the career that a car accident stole from him. But when he’s forced to return to his hometown of Red River, Evan comes face-to-face with the gorgeous woman who’s haunted his dreams for the last year—the woman he rescued from the burning car that injured his hand. Now Evan needs her help. In a month, he’ll have the job opportunity of a lifetime...he just needs a wife to get it.

  Artist Grace Matheson is down on her luck again…until she walks into Evan Manning’s office. When her sexy former hero hears that she needs work, he offers her a job and a home—if she’ll pretend she’s his fiancée. Grace knows she shouldn’t fall for him. Once the month is up, Evan will be back to his old life. But the more time they spend together, the more real their feelings become—and the more likely heartbreak is.

  The Doctor’s Fake Fiancée

  a Red River novel

  Victoria James

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Victoria James. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Tracy Montoya and Alethea Spiridon Hopson

  Cover design by Jessica Cantor

  ISBN 978-1-63375-114-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2014

  I’m so happy to dedicate this book to all of my readers.

  I feel truly blessed to have so many wonderful, supportive, and thoughtful readers. You have all blown me away with your emails, messages and comments. Whenever I receive one of your emails or messages, it always makes my day.

  I know I’ve kept you waiting for Evan’s book-I hope you enjoy this return to Red River and fall in love alongside Evan and Grace.

  A very special thank you to these readers: Stella, Kim, Mandy, Monique, Nicola, Ellen, Jessica H, Christine P, Marci, Pamela L, Ann, and Sandy.

  Your most loyal fan,

  Victoria

  xo

  Prologue

  Grace Matheson needed to grow up. It was time to face the facts—she couldn’t be a single mom, hold down a job, and pursue her dreams of becoming an artist. Her paintings weren’t bringing in any money, so she couldn’t afford to spend the time on them anymore.

  “I promise it will never happen again. My babysitter canceled at the last minute, and I had no one to watch my son,” she whispered into her phone. Her eyes focused on the road ahead and she cringed as the office manager gave a long sigh on the other end of the line.

  She cursed herself for staying awake almost the entire night to finish a painting. When she’d finally stumbled to bed at five in the morning, she’d forgotten to set her alarm and had woken up two hours late for work, in a complete panic.

  “Grace, this is the last time. I think you’re a very nice person, but I need a reliable receptionist in Dr. Harris’s office. One more chance. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Thank you, Cynthia.” She breathed a long sigh of relief, easing her foot off the gas as she approached the turnoff to the highway. Her heart squeezed painfully as she glanced in her rearview mirror at her son, who was sleeping soundly. Being a single mother was harder than she ever could have imagined, and she’d naively thought she could juggle everything, including her son. Christopher had never been planned, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was her first priority.

  She looked away from the mirror to the road ahead, just in time to see the eighteen-wheeler take the highway on-ramp too fast. Her heart slammed up against her ribs with the painful realization that she wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. She pounded the brakes and veered the steering wheel to the left.

  Her car, the truck, the road, blurred and slowed until they floated in only a silent, throbbing bubble. The ominous, thunderous drone of the truck turning on its side and slamming onto the road, mingling with Christopher’s shrill cry, were the last sounds she heard before everything turned black.

  …

  Voices, no, a voice was calling her. Where was she?

  “I’m going to get you out of here, sweetheart. Can you hear me?” the person said again. It was a man’s voice. It was familiar. It was gruff, strained, and filled with…worry. She tried to lift her head to nod, but it was as though she were trying to lift a sandbag. Sirens hummed in the distance, slicing through the fog that held her mind captive.

  “Mommy,” a little voice whimpered, a voice that she knew instinctively, that kicked her adrenaline into high gear.

  “Christopher,” she tried to yell, but she could only manage a soft whisper. She needed to get to her son.

  “He’s fine. He’s going to be okay. I’m a doctor,” the man said. The reassurance was all she had to cling to. There was shuffling. Christopher was whimpering, and she struggled to push against whatever it was that was pinning her down.

  “Where are we?” She tried to blink, but whenever she opened her eyes, they burned. She squeezed them shut and tried to breathe, but her lungs were heavy. Smoke. There was smoke.

  “You were in a car accident. Help is on the way. I’ve got you and your son almost out, okay? I need you to stay calm and just do as I say. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” the man said. His hands reached across her waist, and she felt him tug. Strong arms moved across her body as he pulled at the seatbelt. There was something about him, a familiarity. She tried to stay awake, to open her eyes, but it was useless.

  “The car is filled with smoke, and that truck is going to light up. We’ve got to get out of here. Can you move?” He continued to pull the seat belt. Adrenaline and panic raced through her, and she prayed for strength as she tried to move, to lift her limbs. Nothing moved. Or worked.

  “Mommy,” Christopher cried and then coughed. He needed to get out of the car. She needed to save her baby.

  “Christopher, it’s okay, Mommy is here,” she said, willing her voice not to waver. The man’s head hunched close to hers. “Just get my son out, ok
ay? I’ll be fine. Get him out,” she pleaded.

  “I’m getting you both out,” the man said, his voice rough and sure. There was strength in it.

  “Get him out. Promise me—”

  He ignored her plea and pulled on her seat belt again. It finally unlatched, and she felt his sigh of relief. “Got it. I want to wait for the paramedics to get here before I move you, but I don’t know how long we have. Your car is sitting right under the truck.”

  Panic swam through her body. The smoke grew thicker, and she began coughing. Everything ached, and she fought desperately to stay awake.

  “I’m going to get you out of here, sweetheart,” the man repeated, and there was that comfort in his voice, something that made her want to believe him.

  Maybe she could close her eyes for a minute. Just a minute.

  Seconds later, minutes later, hands were lifting her. People were talking. She listened for the man. There were different voices. Something about a fire. And getting out. Grace struggled to break through the fog in her head and the sleep that was drowning her, the heat that was stifling her ability to speak. Christopher. Where was Christopher? The man?

  “Christopher,” she tried to yell as her body landed on something soft and cool.

  “He’s coming,” a woman said as she placed something hard against Grace’s neck.

  Her son’s shrill, distraught scream, mingled with a man’s roar of pain shot through the haze she was engulfed in. Her eyes sprang open, and a striking blaze of orange was all she saw until darkness claimed her.

  Chapter One

  Dr. Evan Manning hung up the phone and cursed loudly inside his empty office. There was no way around it: if he wanted to restore his position at the top, he needed to find a wife. Or fiancée. By next week.

  But first he was going to have to deal with a full day of patients. He scowled at his computer screen and fought the urge to jam his fist in his mouth. His eyes glazed over as he read the roster of upcoming appointments:

  9:00 a.m.—Eunice Jacobs: Toe fungus

  9:20 a.m.—Crystal Boon: Warts

  9:40 a.m.—Jeremy Morris: Hemorrhoids

  He stopped reading and dragged his hands down his face with a loud groan. There was precisely one month left of this monotony. These were the kind of medical issues he’d never had to deal with in the ER. There was no adrenaline rush in prescribing hemorrhoid cream and more fiber. When his mentor, the doctor that he’d admired as a child and had stayed in close contact with professionally and personally, had suffered a mild heart attack and had asked Evan to fill in for him for a month to six weeks, Evan had readily agreed. The timing had been ideal, really. He was about to make a major career move, and the dead-crawl pace in Red River would give him the extra time to ensure he got what he was after.

  But small-town, family practice was definitely not what he’d expected: it was much worse. People in Red River were all about long conversations and getting into everyone else’s business.

  A short, quick rap on the door reminded him that he was a professional, and small-town horror or not, he had a job to do. He composed himself and swiveled on the worn chair to look at Sheila, the receptionist standing in the doorway. Her tightly curled gray hair seemed to stand on end as she frowned at him. He attempted a smile, but her glower only deepened. He took a deep breath and pretended he was a patient man.

  “Dr. Manning, this is my official notice of resignation,” she announced with a huff, walking forward and slapping a letter on his desk. He tore his gaze away from her angry face to the envelope on his desk. He had been here less than a week, and the receptionist of almost thirty-five years was quitting.

  “Sheila, you can’t resign—”

  “I can, and I will. You may be easy on the eyes, young man, but I’m past the age where my hormones will respond to those baby blues of yours. In all my years working with Dr. Chalmers, I have never been so patronized or overworked—”

  “I didn’t patronize you. I know you’re an invaluable part of this practice. As for being overworked, I’m sorry, but I just noticed that there were many files and systems that needed updating. I thought it would be nice to get this place up to speed before Dr. Chalmers returns from his sick leave.” Actually he thought the way this entire place was run was archaic and without any kind of discipline. Judging by her herculean stance, she wasn’t in the mood to be criticized.

  “Well, I do not appreciate working under a dictator. Maybe this kind of thing is acceptable in the city where you’re barking out orders in the ER, but this is Red River. Here we take the time to say good morning and ask about your family and talk about the weather. I will remind you, Evan Manning, that I knew you when you were running around in diapers, trying to keep up with those older brothers of yours.” She paused for a moment, and he sincerely hoped it was the end of her tirade. But then she puffed up her chest, and he braced himself. “You were much sweeter then.”

  For chrissakes. The constant reminders that everyone knew him when he was a child drove him nuts. He’d been back for all of one week, and he was ready to enter the witness protection program to ensure no one would ever find him again. Her voice screeched on, and he glanced over at his computer display, wondering if there was a way he could switch the screens and get to his email account without Sheila noticing. He nodded seriously at her, when he heard the words “settle down,” and slowly placed his hand on the mouse, his eyes not leaving hers. And then she swatted him with a medical file.

  “Are you even listening to me? This is what I’m talking about—I refuse to work for a person who can’t even be bothered to make eye contact with me.”

  He looked at her, squarely. “I have been listening to you.”

  Her eyes narrowed to little blue slits, and he braced himself for another unsolicited opinion. “Do you know what’s wrong with you, Evan Manning?”

  Sheila seemed to think that because she and his mother had been friends, and that she’d seen him in diapers, she was qualified to give him life advice. He stretched his legs out in front of him, forcing his muscles to relax and his mind to numb. “Please tell me, Sheila. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You need a wife. A family.”

  Exactly right. Had she been eavesdropping on his phone conversation? When his Good Samaritan stint in Red River was over, he would hopefully be on his way to running North America’s most exclusive plastic-surgery clinics. All he needed in order to seal the deal was to convince the head of Medcorp that Evan Manning was a family man, the ideal choice to oversee the network of clinics for the wealthy, family-owned company. Then his career would be back on track. Sure, his surgery days were over after the accident, but he’d be at the top again. And that was the most important thing.

  You need to be the best. You are bigger than this small town. Don’t disappoint us, Evan, not like Jake. Stay focused on your goals. Evan frowned. He hated when his father’s voice popped into his head without warning. Especially since he now knew the truth about his father.

  “Well,” Sheila prodded, effectively drowning out his father’s voice.

  “Maybe you’re right. So why don’t you stay, point out my flaws, and then when the month is up, you can go on vacation? Just think, how will Dr. Chalmers feel when he returns to find that you’ve retired? I’m only here for four more weeks. He’ll be recovered and back at work, and I’ll be in Toronto—I’ll be nothing but a memory to you.”

  “More like a nightmare,” she said, her chest inflating like a rooster again. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. Life is too short to be wasted here. I’ve booked myself a Mediterranean cruise. I have left instructions and detailed notes on my desk for whatever poor, unsuspecting receptionist you coerce into taking my place. So, as the Italians say, ‘adios.’”

  Evan rubbed the back of his neck, and flipped open the file. “Actually, it’s ‘ciao’ or ‘arrivederci.’”

  “Excuse me?”

  He flipped through the file and nodded. “The Spanish say ‘adios.’ The Italian
s say, ‘ciao’ or ‘arrivederci.’”

  Sheila let out a choked sound and then whirled on her beige, rubber-soled shoes and marched out of the small office.

  Dammit. So now, he needed a receptionist, a wife, and a freaking prescription for high-blood-pressure medication.

  Five minutes later, Mrs. Jacob’s high-pitched squeal rattled the silence of the small office. Good God. This was going from bad to catastrophic. Evidently, Sheila hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind her. He was going to have to get through this day without a receptionist.

  He pulled out Mrs. Jacobs’s chart as her heavy footsteps approached at a rapid, ominous pace and stood, the sudden movement causing his swivel chair to glide across the spotless linoleum floor and bang into the examination table. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable onslaught of nonsensical questions from the elderly woman. He opened the door, ready to face the most eccentric patient of the day, only to have her barrel though the door like a bushel of apples.

  “Dr. Evan,” Mrs. Jacobs huffed, lunging forward and forcing him to back up a step. Eunice Jacobs was probably the only person in Red River who called him Dr. Evan instead of Dr. Manning—and the only person to wear a raincoat in sunny weather.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Jacobs.” He took another cautionary step backward, needing a healthy dose of space between him and the woman who smelled like rancid garlic. He forced himself to look down at her foot, which she had raised from the ground and was dangling in the air. He stifled his need to curse and grabbed her arm to steady her as she seemed precariously close to losing her balance. Her pink, sparkling sandals were looking more stuffed than a turkey on Thanksgiving.

  “I jammed some disinfectant around the nail, added fresh garlic, and wrapped it in gauze. But you need to fix it so that I’ll fit into my stilettos for my wedding next Saturday.”

  He bit down on his tongue so hard he worried he cut it. He had no idea how this woman thought she’d ever get those wide feet of hers crammed into stilettos.