“But what if I wanted you as a physician? It wouldn’t be stealing if I gave myself to you.” Both women paused for a moment after that comment. BJ nervously cleared her throat. “Um, you said you have a license.”

“Huh?” Hobie asked. Her mind appeared to still be on the visual image of BJ’s last thought. “Uh, yes, yes, I do, but I think you should give the doc a chance first. It’s what I would want if I were him.”


“Oh, okay. Geez, has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

“That sounds a lot like the stubborn pot saying hello to the kettle.”

“Touché.”


“There is a little something I should warn you about regarding the doc.”

“Oh, no! What does he see or who doesn’t he think is dead?” “You’re just a laugh a minute. Are you thinking about taking

this act on the road?”


“Point taken, Mom. So what’s this guy’s hang-up?”


“I guess the easiest way to explain it is to say that he’s a bit forgetful. He’s not a stupid man. He’s a very good physician, but you may have to...keep him on track.”

“This is going to be fun, I can see it now.” BJ reached into the backseat for her crutches. “You coming in with me?”

“Sure, I’ve got some time to kill.”


“I’m going in to see a doctor who you admit is a few bricks short of a load. Do you think you could manage not to use the word ‘kill’?”

“Oh, come on,” Hobie said as she exited the automobile. “Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”

“What a mature comment,” BJ said, sticking her tongue out at Hobie.

The doctor’s office was exactly as BJ pictured a small-town physician’s office. There were four examination rooms, but by the silence, she guessed that there were never more than two rooms filled with patients at the same time. Pale green and white ceramic tile decorated the walls. The heavy odor of antiseptic hung in the air, the distinctive smell that distinguished medical offices from other workplaces.

It didn’t take long before BJ had seated herself on an exam table in one of the backrooms. The doctor came in immediately.

“Good afternoon, Miss...um...” He referred to the chart in his hand. “Miss Warren-Baylor.” He smiled and BJ took a deep breath.

“Just Warren,” she clarified.


“Miss JustWarren?” The doctor stared at the papers in his hand in confusion, and BJ took another deep breath.

“My name is Baylor Joan Warren.”


“Ah. Technology, eh?” He indicated the computer printout. “It’s a wonderful thing.”

“What can we do for you today, Miss Warren?”


BJ looked the doctor in the eye, then glanced down at her right leg where a cast ran from toe to mid-thigh. She half expected the man to laugh at himself for missing such an obvious clue. When the silence grew uncomfortable, she spoke.

“I have a broken bone?” Her own disbelief caused the statement to come out more like a question.

“I see. Which one?”


BJ knew that getting out of this would require some desperate measures. “Excuse me, but can I confide in you, Doctor?”

“Why of course, Miss Warren.” He sat on a padded chrome stool and wheeled himself closer. He patted her hand and BJ knew this was what he was good at doing. He was a kindly soul who usually saw nothing more serious than colds, bumps, and bruises during his day. Because of this insight, she didn’t have the heart to lash out at him. She decided to play the Ana Lia game.

“Doctor, I wonder...you see, I’m rather used to female physicians where I come from. I know this is a huge imposition, but...would you be very offended if I asked for a female doctor? I’m sure I’ve just developed some sort of phobia or something, but I’m quite sensitive about it.”

The doctor smiled and patted BJ’s hand once more. “I completely understand, my dear. Now don’t you worry about this at all. It’s funny you should ask because there is a colleague of mine in the waiting room right now. Would you care to meet her? She’s a fine doctor.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That’s so understanding of you.” BJ put on her most endearing smile.

“Not at all. Why, you just wait here for one moment. All right?”

Not more than five minutes later, Hobie walked through the door of the examination room. She shook her head. “I don’t know what you said to the man. Frankly, I don’t think I want to know, but he happens to think you’re the sweetest, most genteel woman he’s ever met.”

“Naturally.” BJ smiled broadly.


“I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.” “Oh, that hurts.”

Hobie laughed and shook her head again as she put on a lab coat. She called out a few orders to the nurse and prepared to care for her new patient.



The next morning, Hobie sat in her favorite booth at the Cove. She looked at her watch as she sipped her second cup of coffee. She had already ordered her usual breakfast, knowing that BJ would be late. No matter how early BJ started out, she managed to be delayed. She always had one more sentence to type. She held her muse liable. She had explained to Hobie that her muse gave her the thoughts and the inspiration to write. In appreciation and gratitude, she never said no to her muse, alleging that was the reason she was such a prolific writer. While half of her peers suffered from one form or another of writer’s block, she turned out a new novel every year.

Hobie smiled to herself. She knew she’d gotten in deep with Baylor Warren when her perpetual tardiness had become endearing. Then there was the comment Evelyn had made that BJ had a thing for Hobie. Hobie dismissed it as an old woman’s fantasy, but it stayed in the back of her mind. Of course, there was Chicago, too.

Hobie debated with herself on a daily basis whether to confess to BJ about that night in the hotel. Every day that passed, however, made it that much harder to make a clean breast of things. After a few weeks had passed, Hobie gave up her deliberations, realizing that after this much time, BJ was likely to become angry over the buried truth.

Hobie had a smile on her face before BJ entered the restaurant looking like a million bucks. BJ’s broken ankle seemed to be healing just fine, and she was ecstatic with the freedom of the new walking cast. She was able to maneuver much easier using only a cane to walk.


“How do I look, JoJo?” BJ asked when she sat in the booth. She stuck her leg out for inspection.

“Like you’re ready for that Boston Marathon. You want your usual?”

“Thank you and yes, please.”


“Morning,” Hobie said with a cheerful smile. “Right back at ya.”

They talked as they ate, then continued their conversation over a few cups of coffee. Hobie had learned more about BJ’s private life, especially her childhood. BJ was surprisingly free with information from that area of her life. Telling Hobie about the Institute had cracked open a dam.

“Do you mind if I ask a personal question, Baylor?” “Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Hobie asked. “Wait. Let me guess. How personal the question is. Right?”

BJ leaned forward. “No. It depends on how nicely you ask.” She smiled haughtily.

“Okay.” Hobie offered a saccharine smile of her own. “Evelyn has always told me that you’re a successful author. You’ve even said you’re a writer, but...”

“But?” BJ repeated.


“I guess I’d like to know why I can’t seem to bring your name up anywhere. I’ve looked under every genre and every spelling of your name that I can think of, but nothing. The library doesn’t have one book or bit of info on you. Are you actually a writer, or is it all some kind of cover to hide the fact that you’re really a CIA operative?”

BJ laughed. “Hmm, CIA? I’ve never thought of that one.” “I’m trying to be serious.”

“So am I. Look, don’t fly off the handle.” BJ saw the beginnings of Hobie’s temper. “I’m not being flip. Well, maybe a little, but there are only about two people in the whole world who know what I’m about to tell you. I’m trusting you with my greatest secret, Hobie.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. I mean, I’d hate to be the one that—”

“I’m not worried.” BJ graced her with an easy smile. “Hobie, the reason you can’t find any information about me is that I use a pen name. I am a successful and popular writer, but when I write, I don’t use Baylor Warren.”

“What name do you use?” “I’m Harriet Teasley.”

BJ watched Hobie’s reaction, waiting for that moment of pleasant surprise. It never came. In fact, Hobie’s face displayed little emotion at all. It took on a blank look. She just sat there and blinked her eyes a few times, her body frozen.

“Harriet Teasley, the romance queen?” Hobie asked. “The one and only.”

“Oh” was all Hobie said before clamping her mouth shut. Hobie’s lackluster response did indeed appear to affect BJ,

while Hobie looked as if she were in pain. “Are you all right?” BJ asked.

“Who, me? Sure, sure. I just…wait a minute! This isn’t a joke or anything, is it?”

“Nope. Harriet is my alter ego.”


“Wow,” Hobie said, but her words held no enthusiasm. “I had no idea. What—um, can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”


“Why straight romances? I mean, writing the love scenes must be hard.” Hobie knew the question was inane, but she was trying to get the concept clear in her mind. How could she possibly say what she really thought about Harriet Teasley’s novels?

“Trust me, I don’t work from memory.” BJ lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ve never been able to do the guy thing. Not that I haven’t known gals who did,” she quickly added.