A certain smiling blonde waitress had nothing to do with why Dr. Nick Matrone detoured to the Wharfside Cafe that morning. He needed coffee before seeing his first patient. The cantankerous Mrs. Bindle. An older widow who came into the clinic at least once a week complaining of one malady or another. However, in his professional medical opinion, Nick believed the woman was simply lonely. He could relate.

The sun glared off the glassy water to his left as his shoes clumped on the wooden boards of the wharf. The fishing boats were all out on Lake Michigan at this time of the morning. He’d learned enough from rooming with David Martins, a fishing captain, that such calm conditions made for poor fishing. He whispered a prayer for his friend. The man was engaged and needed the income during these lean times. Not that God listened. Nick just couldn’t shake the habit of bringing every worry to Him.

He turned his face away from the brightness as his mood darkened. He tightened his grip on his satchel. Beginning a day in a grouchy mood never ended well. His patients needed him to be positive, encouraging, to foster healing. A perspective that had been increasingly difficult over the last six months. Today’s newspaper headline only added to the problem.

Coffee.

Nick plowed through the empty outdoor seating and pulled open the door to the Wharfside. He spotted several of the retired captains sitting at a table in the middle of the room and promptly spun around. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be jovial. The gregarious Italian. He barely restrained a muttered Italian phrase that would have had his mamma crossing herself.

Sometimes he wished his skin tone was several shades lighter. His nose, not so straight. His hair, not so black. Then people would see him as a doctor. Not as someone related to Al Capone, whose indictment for tax evasion dominated the front page of today’s Crow’s Nest Gazette. Just because Nick was also Italian. No matter that he had never been to Chicago, except to travel through on his way from New York City.

Yes. He needed coffee. Lots of it.

“Dr. Matrone?” Melinda “Mindy” Zahn stepped out of the Wharfside door wearing a serviceable gray dress and white apron, her blonde hair in her usual ponytail. A beautiful, albeit questioning, smile on her fair face. She always said his name correctly, with the emphasis on the first part and the ay at the end. It tripped off her tongue in a lilting way he could listen to all day.

“Uh, hi.” He shook his head. Being attracted to someone like Mindy wouldn’t end well. A guy who looked like him didn’t marry a girl who looked like her. He cleared his throat and dredged up his professional voice. “Might I get a cup of coffee while I sit out here?”

“Certainly.” Her smile grew. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Nick set his satchel down beside a chair and unbuttoned his suit coat. A warm breeze slipped underneath. It promised to be one of the warmest days yet, as expected, seeing that summer would officially arrive in a couple weeks.

“Did you pick a seat?” Mindy returned with a cup balanced on a saucer.

“This okay?” He waved at the table he’d chosen and tucked his thumbs into his vest pockets.

“It’s a beautiful morning.” She set the coffee cup on the table, then shielded her eyes as she looked out across the water. “I love early summer days. The sun feels like a warm hug, and the warmth is welcome after the winter. It’s like a sheep shedding its winter coat. All the weight is gone. It’s delightful.”

Nick watched her, as he’d done since he met her. She was rarely static. Though she didn’t talk with her hands like Nick’s mother and sister, her whole body swayed as she talked, her eyes animated with her expressions. If he had a thousand years, he doubted he could read her fully. However, he loved to read.

“What is your favorite season?” She turned her wide hazel eyes on him.

“Can’t say as I have one.” Certainly not like she did. “New York winters are full of dirty slush. Summers, the heat is trapped in overpopulated apartments. Central Park is pretty in the fall. I never really noticed spring.”

She cocked her head, her ponytail swishing over her shoulder. “I don’t think I could live in a big city if that’s the way the seasons went. It doesn’t sound as if there is any fresh air to—Oh no.” Her fingers wrapped around the edge of her apron.

Nick followed her gaze, and his stomach knotted. Joe Spelding. A chore of a man who made it his mission to seduce Mindy, or any other woman gullible enough to fall for his charms while he waited for Mindy to come around. Not that Mindy ever would. Nick had heard of their first run-in last summer, knew Mindy wanted to keep as far away from the man as she could. However, Nick knew men like Spelding. Knew they wouldn’t give up easily, that their snake-oil words could weave an enchantment over the strongest of people.

“I best …” Mindy thumbed toward the door, her hand trembling.

“Mindy.” Nick stepped toward her. He hated that there seemed no solution, that Spelding didn’t take a hint—or an obvious rejection. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” She grazed her fingers along his arm, so lightly he could barely feel her touch through his coat sleeve. It strengthened his resolve to do whatever he could to protect her from the scoundrel. “I avoid him when I can. When he’s a customer …”

She shrugged and slipped away. Nick worked his jaw as his mind sorted through scenarios. He’d bring it up to David tonight. There had to be something they could do. No woman should feel unsafe like this in her own community.

“Morning, Matrone.” Spelding turned into the outdoor seating of the Wharfside. The man had the decency to mostly say Nick’s surname as it was meant, just with the hard n sound at the end. Like how most people said his name. “You come here for the food or the scenery?”

Nick closed his fist at the innuendo in Spelding’s voice. Uno, due, tre … “Coffee.”

Spelding laughed.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, Nick dropped into his chair and lifted his satchel to his lap. He didn’t plan to look over patient files while drinking his coffee, but he needed a physical barrier to keep people—Spelding—from talking to him.

Spelding’s chuckling finally ended as the door closed behind him.

Nick removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired. So very tired. The weariness dragged his shoulders down. Even the coffee couldn’t infuse his body with energy. How was he going to be kind to Mrs. Bindle with this grouchy feeling stealing any lightness inside? The sun was shining, summer was coming, he was away from the dirty city. Hope should buoy him up. Why couldn’t he find his life raft?

A small figure caught his attention. A young girl in a dirty tan dress that came to her knees. Beat up shoes. Messy blonde hair. She walked almost like a ghost. Wandering. Meandering. Nick shifted, ready to react if she went too close to the edge of the wharf and the water. Instead, she turned into the cafe seating area, dragging a carpet bag behind her. Her gaze passed over him to the sign above the doorway, yet she stayed still. Strangely still.

Nick searched the wharf for anyone connected to this child. She couldn’t be over eight years old. Surely there was a parent nearby. Or other relative. However, the wharf maintained its early morning quiet.

Slowly, so as not to startle the child, Nick rose from his table. Five careful steps brought him to her and he knelt. “Hi. My name is Dr. Matrone. What’s your name?”

She cocked her head, reminding him so much of Mindy.

Nick’s pulse picked up. “Where are your parents?”

One thin shoulder rose and fell.

“Are you looking for someone?” Nick’s medical training pounded in his ears. The girl’s gaunt face, questioning gaze, overly thin frame … and the fact she showed no signs of desiring to talk … he shoved his medical instincts aside. For the moment. He needed to find her people. He followed his suspicions. “Are you looking for Mindy?”

The little girl’s eyes brightened. He eased out the breath that wanted to whoosh out. This child was connected to Mindy. Somehow.

“Can I help you find Mindy?” Nick held out a hand. She laid bony fingers, pale against his dark skin, in his palm. His heart constricted with a fierce protectiveness.