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the clinic.”
    Her temperature seemed to be hovering just above freezing. Could he coax her to thaw even more? He stuck out his hand for a handshake when he really wanted to kiss her. Even though she was a complete stranger. Even though she might not like crooked noses. “I’m Zach.”
    She avoided his eyes. “And I should get Rose inside. Her mother is probably worried sick.”
    â€œSo,” he said, playfully cocking an eyebrow, “you don’t want to tell me your name.”
    â€œYou’re a complete stranger.”
    â€œNot a complete stranger. You know my name.”
    â€œThat’s not a good enough reason to tell you my name.”
    â€œI know a lot about you. You own a white coat and brown boots. You do not paint your nails, and we have scarves that are eerily similar to each other. And”—he held up his hand to stop her from protesting—“you speak Amish.”
    She bowed her head as a smile crept onto her lips. “You haven’t been in town very long, have you?”
    â€œI got here in July. I’m doing rotations at the hospital.”
    The fact that he did rotations at the hospital didn’t seem to impress her in the least. “The language is called Pennsylvania Dutch, or Deitsch , if you actually speak it. It’s a distant cousin of German. Most of the Amish can trace their roots back to Germany. They fled to America to avoid religious persecution.”
    One side of Zach’s mouth curled upward. “So if I call the language ‘Amish,’ I’ll broadcast my complete ignorance and lose all credibility.”
    â€œPretty much.” She spoke with a barely discernible accent. Zach found it irresistible.
    Who was this girl and would she give her phone number to a guy with a crooked nose?
    Without another word, she gathered the little Amish girl into her arms and trudged toward the front of the building. He couldn’t let her get away that easily.
    â€œDo you live in Shawano?” he asked, having no problem keeping up with her as she made a beeline for the main doors.
    She didn’t even break her stride. “No. I’m visiting family.”
    Zach’s throat dried up as he considered a horrible possibility. She spoke Amish . . . er . . . Deitsch. Maybe she was Amish. He’d heard that Amish teenagers got to go out into the real world before they joined the Amish church. They wore normal clothes and did normal things. Maybe his angel was one of those. She was definitely past her teens, but maybe she’d been sowing her wild oats for longer than usual.
    â€œFamily? Are you from here?”
    â€œYes. Originally.”
    He almost dreaded the answer he’d get to his next question. “Are you Amish? I know you don’t dress Amish, but are you going through that Rumpelstiltskin thing the Amish teenagers do?”
    She stopped in her tracks, stared at him with those amazing blue eyes, and seemed to smile in spite of herself. He’d made her smile. Best day ever. “Do you mean Rumschpringe ?”
    â€œThat’s it,” he said, returning her smile with a devil-may-care grin.
    â€œI suggest you brush up on Amish culture, Dr. Reynolds, or you’re going to alienate half the population of Bonduel and Shawano.”
    Dr. Reynolds? Had he told her his last name?
    An Amish woman rushed out of the main doors of the hospital. “Rose Sue,” she squealed when she caught sight of the girl in Angel’s arms.
    The little girl threw out her hands. “Mama!”
    The girl’s mother took her from Angel and held her as if she would never let go. She rocked back and forth, whispering unintelligible words of comfort into the little girl’s ear as the girl sniffled into the crook of her neck.
    With relief evident on her face, the Amish woman looked from Zach to the nameless angel and back again. “Thank you. I turned my back, and she disappeared.”
    â€œThe doctor