Dr. Holt And The Texan. Suzannah Davis
Chagrined, flustered, she pulled away, using the hem of her shirt to wipe her damp face. Had he guessed where her wayward impulses had almost led her? Oh, God, how mortifying!
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t sure if the apology was for weeping all over him or almost placing him in the awkward position of betraying his best friend’s trust.
If he hadn’t sensed anything, then it was best to ignore that flash of hunger that had nearly made her forget herself. There was a name they called girls like that, and while she might have a reputation for being spoiled and a bit wild, she’d be damned if she’d ever let anyone call her the other.
“It’s okay, darlin’, you’re just upset.” He stood and slipped on a pearl-studded cowboy shirt, then jammed his feet into a pair of well-worn boots. “Look, I’ll go find Kenny. It’ll be all right. You know he can’t stay mad at you for long. You got him wrapped right around that pretty little pinky finger.”
She swallowed, not much liking the picture his words painted. “Is that how you think it is?”
“Sure thing.” He opened the door and slanted her a grin. But somehow it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure Kenny’s cooled off by now.”
“I hope so.” Cooling her own humors wasn’t such a bad idea, either, not if she expected her relationship with her boyfriend to continue. But she had to know something first. “Uh, Travis? Have you ever fallen in love?”
He froze on the threshold, his shoulders stiff, then he grinned again, all cowboy cockiness and masculine charm.
“Sure, darlin’. About every ten minutes or so. Only problem is, I tend to fall out again faster’n chain lightning.”
Suddenly cold wind whipped Mercy’s hair about her face and brought her back to the present. “Every ten minutes or so...”
That’s what it had been all about, she realized. Some things, some men never changed. A consummate ladies’ man, Travis had merely been indulging in a typically masculine experiment when he’d kissed her late last night. Perhaps one that was long overdue. And she’d been vulnerable and tired and as a result, incautious.
Shivering, Mercy stepped back into her town house, blaming the temperature but knowing on another level it was still the aftershock of that kiss that raised her goose bumps. There was a lot unresolved in her relationship with Travis King, things about Kenny, about the way he’d died, about how Travis had disappeared from her life so completely afterward, that she’d lost not one man she’d cared about, but two.
But that was water under the bridge, and it wouldn’t pay to complicate her already complex, overworked life by admitting she was still susceptible to a certain bull rider’s brand of cowboy charisma. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing Travis again.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. She knew who it was before she opened the door, but she wasn’t prepared for the sheepish expression on Travis’s handsome face or the giant bouquet of hothouse blossoms he thrust at her.
“I came to apologize.”
“Uh—” Helplessly she stood in the doorway and accepted the cellophane-wrapped bundle, breathing in the rich scents of roses and narcissus. What could she do with a man who laid it on the line like this, who stood there literally with his black hat in his hand...throw his peace offering in his teeth? “This wasn’t necessary,” she murmured.
His mouth under the bold black mustache was solemn.
“To me it was. Your friendship means—has always meant—too much to me to risk with some stupid foolishness. Tell me I haven’t screwed up everything again.”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head, searching for some excuse. “Seeing you after all this time...we were both in a highly emotional state, that’s all. No harm done.”
“I‘tn glad to hear it, darlin’.”
She gestured at the armload of flowers. “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Uh, would you like to come in?”
“Better not.” His smile was engaging, rueful. “Wouldn’t want to press my luck, and you’ve got to get to work, haven’t you?”
She was surprisingly disappointed but tried not to show it. “Yes, you’re right,”
“I’ll be going, then.” He shoved on his hat. “Do one thing for me?”
She bit her lip. “If I can.”
“Those posies cost me an arm and leg.” He winked. “Promise me you’ll stick them in some water?”
He’d commented on that wilted grocery store nosegay last night, the one she’d finally thrown in the trash just an hour ago. Maybe he was charitable enough to realize she’d been too tired to find a vase. Or maybe he assumed the rich girl couldn’t be bothered with so simple a task, not a spoiled gal like her who’d always bought and discarded things on a whim, unlike a poor cowboy who had to count every penny to keep up with his entry fees.
Flushing, she managed a stiff nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll go put them in water right now.”
Disconcerted by the bitter edge in her voice, he hesitated, then he shocked her by dragging his knuckles across her cheek in a brief and all-too-disturbing caress. “I’ll see you around, blue eyes.”
Mercy didn’t close the door until the tattoo of his boots on the brick walk faded completely away. When she released the knob, she was trembling. The cellophane crackled in her hands, reminding her with a start of her promise. Moments later, the blossoms safely stashed in a cut-glass pitcher—a housewarming gift from her mother that had never been out of its box until that moment—Mercy picked up her doctor’s jacket, checking automatically for her ID badge, pen and stethoscope.
“See you around,” he’d said. No, not a good idea. Not with the history she and Travis had between them. Not when her reaction to his merest touch had all the dangerous volatility of a trainload of nitroglycerin. She had her life to get on with—responsibilities, obligations, things to prove.
Not that he’d meant anything by that catchphrase, Mercy thought, as she let herself out of her apartment. No, it was just as likely that it would be another fifteen years before she ran into Travis King again, and that suited her just fine. Because she certainly didn’t need a dark-eyed, sweet-talkin’ cowboy, who didn’t care squat for his personal health or safety, coming around, calling her “darlin’,” messing with her head and making her think about what might have been.
Not if she knew what was good for her.
“Who’s the man in black?”
“Johnny Cash?” Two days later Mercy was scribbling on a patient chart, the final one of the evening and her ticket out of the E.R. for the night.
“No, not him.” The young nurse juggled the charts she was holding, poked Mercy’s shoulder and pointed. “That one.”
Mercy looked up and couldn’t contain an involuntary spurt of pleasure at the sight of Travis King flashing his wicked grin at her. She deliberately quashed her untoward delight, frowning as he approached.
“Travis. What are you doing here?” Her professional concern kicked in, her eyes narrowing on the white bandage still gracing his temple. “Something wrong? Headache ? I—”
“Whoa, there, Doc.” Travis held up his hands. “Everything’s fine. I’m just a lonely cowboy looking for a little companionship. When can I spring you from this joint?”
Mercy licked her lips. “Uh, I don’t think—”
“That’s it,” the nurse announced, slamming the last chart shut with a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow night, Dr. Holt.”
“Great.” Travis hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Come on, I’ll buy you some dinner.