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sorry, Dr. MacCallister.”
    The man frowned. “What happened to just calling me Mac? You go back East and get all civilized? I thought we had an agreement.”
    Jillian wanted to protest that she’d never agreed to anything except her sister’s ridiculous scheme. But instead she whispered his name. “Mac.”
    He nodded. “That’s better. Now come sit in my examining room, and we’ll see just what you’ve managed to do to yourself.”
    Jillian allowed him to lead her into his medical office. She took a seat on the chair he pointed to, glad that he’d not suggested she try to mount the spindly contraption that posed as an examination table. Just stay calm, Jillian, she told herself. This will all be over in a few minutes, and you can go back to your room. And do what? she wondered. After all, what she wanted to do was pack and leave without another word. But there was no hope of doing that. Judith needed her, and Jillian knew she would remain no matter how uncomfortable things got.
    Mac went to a washbasin, poured water, and washed his hands before coming back to examine her hand. Carefully—in fact, tenderly—he unwrapped her hand while Jillian tried not to think about the blood or the pain. Or the warmth of his touch.
    â€œMy, my,” he said good-naturedly. “Were you just desperate for attention or bored with Mr. Harvey’s routine?”
    Jillian didn’t know quite how to take his teasing. “I fell with a tray of cups and saucers. Then when I went to get up, I cut my hand. It’s that simple.”
    â€œWell, not exactly,” Mac told her. “It’s going to have to be stitched. Otherwise the bleeding will never stop. See here, it’s already starting back up.”
    Jillian refused to look, but nodded and kept her gaze fixed on Mac’s face. Kate was right. It was an extremely handsome face with its broad square jaw, dark brows, and those wonderfully blue eyes.
    â€œAre you sure this is the only way?” Jillian questioned, fearing what was to come.
    Mac shook his head. “What happened to you back East? You used to have more gumption than this.”
    Jillian realized she was in danger of being found out. Swallowing her fear, she squared her shoulders and replied, “It’s just that there’s a great deal of work to be done back at the dining room. I made quite a mess and it won’t clean itself. My work—”
    â€œCan wait,” Mac interjected and added, “at least a few minutes while I tend to that cut. Now just sit tight, and I’ll get a needle.”
    â€œA needle,” Jillian murmured. Oh, this wasn’t going well at all. How would she ever be able to sit here and pretend to have what he called Judith’s “gumption,” when all she wanted to do was cry? Judith might have taken up the job of stitching herself, but Jillian knew she would be more inclined to pass out in a dead faint from such an ordeal.
    She watched the man move around his office with ease. He was something just over six feet tall and wore a simple dark suit of black serge. He looked like a doctor, she decided. Albeit a young doctor. The doctor who had tended Grandmother had been nearly as old as Grandmother herself. Jillian had no other memory of any other doctor, for doctors were common people as far as her mother was concerned. They were never invited to parties and certainly had never graced the Danvers’ dinner table.
    Mac returned with a tray of necessary equipment. Jillian spied the threaded needle and felt her heart begin to palpitate a little harder. She wished now she was more given to prayers and religiosity. If she were, she would ask God to make this all go away.
    â€œWhy, Judith, you’re as white as a ghost,” Mac stated in a serious tone. “You must have lost quite a bit of blood before making it over to see me.”
    Jillian just nodded. It seemed as logical an excuse as