A Doctor's Confession. Dianne Drake

       CHAPTER ONE

      “HE’S HANDSOME ENOUGH,” Magnolia Loraine Doucet—Maggie—commented. It was one of those hot, hot August days in Big Swamp, where her preference was to sit on the front porch swing, fan herself and sip a tall, cool lemonade. Which was exactly what she was doing with her sister Mellette on the front porch of Eula’s House.

      Inside, Mellette’s husband, Justin, was arguing with Amos Picou on just how much larger the clinic extension should be. Amos wanted to keep everything as it was, and Justin wanted things bigger—a surgery for minor procedures, a cubbyhole where he could escape to write pages for his latest crime novel. It wasn’t a lot in terms of square feet, but changes were met with resistance in these parts.

      And while the argument with Amos, who was in favor of leaving things be, was not nearly as heated as the noonday sun, it had seemed the perfect time for the sisters to go outside and take a break.

      “You mean drop-dead-gorgeous carpenter man without his shirt, and all sweaty. And look at his …” Mellette Bergeron teased.

      “You’re a pregnant lady with a husband just inside the door. You don’t get to look at his anything.”

      “Hey, I can still look … a little.”

      “You’ve got a looker. Got him hook, line and six months into your pregnancy.”

      Mellette smiled the smile of a very contented woman as she laid a protective hand on her belly. “Don’t I know that.”

      “So stop looking at that guy over there.” Maggie nodded her head, indicating the big hunk of a carpenter working on framing the additional room that would be used as a minor surgery at Eula’s House.

      “Because you want him?” Mellette teased.

      “Please. You know I’m not into relationships.”

      “Ah, yes. School and work, and more work. An exciting life.”

      “It is exciting.”

      “Then why are you looking?”

      “I’m not looking so much as … as … admiring the physiology. And I was involved not that long ago.”

      “Marc the Bland and Raymond the Terrible. You do know how to pick ‘em.”

      Maggie Doucet envisioned Marc for a moment—nice man, no wow factor. When his image disappeared she conjured up Raymond the Terrible—man’s body, pig’s head.

      “Marc was okay, just not … not conversant or interesting. And if you recall, Marc the Bland dumped me. He dumped me because I wasn’t interesting enough for him.”

      Maggie and Mellette both laughed, then Mellette continued, “Then entered Raymond the Rebound, who turned out to be Raymond the Terrible. Misogynist pig of a man.”

      “I know, I know. You warned me, Mother and Daddy warned me.” So had her other five sisters. “I met a street performer down in Jackson Square who was dancing for coins and even he warned me in a mime sort of way.”

      “Yet you didn’t listen to any of us, did you?”

      No, she hadn’t. Because that’s just the way she’d been, looking for absolution and as stubborn as the day was long. Not a good combination. Sure, it was a long, tired story about how she’d been stupid. One known to women the world over. And yes, she’d already admitted it freely. What she’d done hadn’t just been stupid. It had been double stupid! Head-in-the-sand time, being dumped by someone she considered bland, then turning to Raymond.

      Lesson learned from all that—she wasn’t ready to jump back into anything for a long time to come. What she had suited her, kept her as safe as she needed to be. “Not doing it again for a long, long time, if ever.”

      “Not even with Mr. Tool Belt over there?”

      “Especially with Mr. Tool Belt over there. He’s …”

      “Too tempting?”

      “I’m not looking.”

      “But you took him lemonade yesterday, didn’t you? Did you take lemonade to any of the other workers or just him?”

      “Just him, but … I did make a pitcher full and left it out there in case any of the others wanted it.”

      “But he got his from you? Correct?”

      “What are you trying to imply?”

      “Nothing!”

      Maggie snapped, “I just gave the man some lemonade, so don’t make a federal case out of it, okay?”

      “Which means you are interested, being so defensive and all.”

      “And just where do you get that?”

      “You also said he’s sexy, did you not?”

      “I said the way he drank his lemonade is sexy. That’s