Excerpt of Close To Home by Suzanne Ferrell

Harriett tried to talk him out of it, but Clint was determined to investigate the situation at the twins' home. It had been months since he'd really enjoyed taking care of patients. Holding the body of one dying child was enough for him. He wasn't about to let anything happen to these boys now.

So, in the end, despite his nurse's cryptic remarks that things were not always what they seemed, he and the boys headed across the street.

"Mommy is..." Brian said as he held Clint's hand with his good one.

"...sleeping now," Benjamin informed him from the other side.

"Who watches you when your mother is asleep?" Clint asked as they reached the old three–story colonial directly across from his clinic.

"Mama does," the boys answered in unison.

Did this woman truly believe raising these boys in a small town protected them—that the safety of a small community negated the need for supervision? His blood started to boil again as his temper re–ignited.

The boys led him up to the front door. He followed them inside. The condition of the front parlor stopped him in his tracks. Either someone was attempting to knock out a wall, or the boys' mother let them entertain themselves by hurling hammers into the drywall.

He took a step into the room, but two small hands stopped him, pulling him backward.

"We're not allowed..." Brian began.

"...in the construction rooms," Benjamin followed.

"I'm sorry boys." Clint stepped back. At least the woman has some sense. "Why don't you show me where your mother is."

"Mommy's upstairs," Benjamin bounced up the steps, while his brother chose to hold Clint's hand and walk up beside him.

Despite his bravado of doing things just like his brother, Clint sensed Brian probably needed a little more reassurance. He gave the younger boy's hand a squeeze and smiled down at him.

Brian gave him a gap–toothed grin in return. "Mama will be surprised to see our..." He held up his arm. "What'd you call this?"

"A cast." Clint couldn't resist another smile. "And I'll just bet she'll be surprised."

"Mommy's in here." Benjamin stopped for a moment at the first door at the top of the stairs, then burst into the room. Brian dropped Clint's hand and dashed in after his brother.

Laughter greeted Clint's ears at the open doorway—rich, soft laughter, like the creamy center of a melted caramel. The kind of laughter that made you want to wrap yourself up in it and stay a while.

Clint stopped in the doorway, spellbound.

The boys sat on different sides of an antique four–poster bed, sunk knee–deep in patchwork quilts, sheets and what he would swear was an old fashioned feather–tick mattress. But it was the vision between the little boys that held Clint's attention.

Emma Lewis had the same rich, dark, burnt–copper hair as her sons, and the burns–if–she's–out–in–the&ndas h;sun–longer–than–one–hour skin of most redheads. Beneath the wrinkled T–shirt and jeans she'd fallen asleep in, he could tell she was neither too thin nor too heavy, just the luscious type of figure Clint decided long ago he liked on women. She also possessed that wonderful laughter that had stirred more than his heart to life.

But when she raised the deepest cornflower–blue eyes to him, Clint nearly moaned. If he let himself, he could get lost in that open, clear gaze forever.

"Can I help you?" The remnants of sleep in her voice brought on visions of hearing her voice after a night of endless passion.

"I'm Clint Preston," he started to explain.

"He's Doc Ray's nephew. And he's a doc, too," interrupted Benjamin.

"And he put this on my arm," Brian added, not to be outdone by his brother.

"What?" Emma looked at her sons, finally taking in their casts and looking a bit confused. "What happened?"

"Apparently they decided to play skydivers while you were sleeping," Clint informed her. Some of his anger was dispelled by the obvious motherly concern on her face.

"Where?" she asked, looking first at one cast then the other.

"Thompson's tree," the boys answered at the same time.

Emma sat straight up at this information. Her face changed from one of concern to one of maternal outrage. "The tall oak in front of Old Man Thompson's barn? What were the two of you doing there? You know he doesn't allow anyone on his property. That boar hog of his is dangerous!"

"But it's the biggest tree, mommy," Benjamin said, his head drooped with guilt.

"That's no excuse, Benjamin Joseph Lewis!" Their mother gave the boys such an I'm–very–disappointed–in–you look that Clint wanted to grab them and leave.

His anger snapped back to life. "If you had someone watching them, this wouldn't have happened," he said, coming to loom over the bed. "Setting limits, then yelling at them after they forget those limits is no replacement for actual adult supervision. Cases of neglect have been made on less, lady!"

Emma surged up in the bed, coming almost nose–to–nose with him. "How dare you suggest I neglect my sons. Not that it's any of your business, Doctor, but for your information, I do have someone watching them." Emma glared at him, her arms securely around her sons. "Mama watches them."

"You can't possibly believe they are safe running loose in this Podunk town while you sleep. You don't deserve two great kids like these. Your lack of concern over their care is tantamount to neglect."

"I don't know who you think you are, Doctor, but no one accuses me of neglecting my kids." She crawled out of the bed, to stand inches from him, her face flushed with her temper.

Then he remembered Johnny Wilson.

"I'm giving you one week, lady. Either you find more responsible child care, or I'll have the county Child Protection Services here so fast you won't know what hit you."

"Oh, dear. This is all my fault." A soft voice sounded from behind him.

Clint turned to see a tiny, white–haired woman standing in the doorway, wringing her hands.