One Night in Weaver.... Allison Leigh
to slide the blouse over her head.
“Married people just say that so they’ll feel better about what they’ve sacrificed since the vows.” Sam removed the jacket and held it out. “Ditch the blouse,” she advised.
“What?”
Sam wagged the jacket. “Bad enough you’re wearing a suit. You don’t need to button up in a blouse, too.”
“I figured we could go to China Palace in Braden. It’s the only place around that uses linen tablecloths. But I’ll probably know half the people there, so I’m not going without a blouse.”
Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself. No pun intended. I’m sure pretty boy will be impressed to go out with a woman dressed for the office.” Her wicked smile took away any sting and she pulled open Hayley’s bedroom door. “I’ve gotta get back to the station.” She’d only dropped by for a few minutes during her break. “Let me know how it goes.”
After she’d shut the door behind her, Hayley looked at herself in the mirror. She did look as if she was heading in for a day of work. The suit and blouse were nearly identical to the ones she’d shed shortly before Sam had showed up. Even adding a pair of multi-strapped black pumps wasn’t going to change that fact.
“Sugarnuts,” she muttered and whipped the blouse back over her head. She’d twisted her usual ponytail into a low chignon and the pins were already starting to come loose thanks to her hurrying. She didn’t want Seth thinking of her as a therapist.
She wanted him thinking of her as a woman.
But she didn’t have the nerve to go sans blouse entirely. She found a lacy black camisole that had never seen the light of day—because it was meant to be an undergarment—and buttoned her jacket up over that. She yanked the pins out of her hair, raked her fingers through it and checked her reflection again.
“You look manic,” she told herself and reached for the brush to smooth out her messy hair.
“Hayley, dear.” Her grandmother opened the door, an imperious look in her eye. “Your phone is out here ringing. Shall I answer it for you?”
Hayley tossed the brush on the bed. “I’ll get it, Vivian.” Addressing her grandmother by her given name was something that made them both more comfortable. Hayley because she’d never met the woman until six months ago. And Vivian because she wasn’t fond of being reminded that she was old enough to have several grown grandchildren. Which made little sense, because she’d come to Wyoming to end the estrangement with her family.
“Men like women in dresses, dear.” Vivian followed Hayley into the living room. “Once you catch them, then wear a suit.” The older woman patted the nubby silk one that she herself was wearing. “But until then—” she waved her hand expressively “—wear a dress. Allows them to think they’re in charge or something. Men need their delusions.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Hayley said confidently, despite her own dithering over her clothing, and snatched up her ringing cell phone from the table by the front door. She quickly answered when she saw the number displayed. “This is Dr. Templeton.”
“Sorry to bother you at home, ma’am. But you did say to call if he showed any change.”
She easily recognized the caller’s voice. Which meant the “he” in question was her newest patient, Jason McGregor. “That’s all right, Adam. And I did say to call anytime. What’s happening? Is he asking for me?” It would be a first. Ever since Tristan Clay requested she take on the case, Jason McGregor had steadfastly refused to interact with her in any meaningful way. That hadn’t stopped her from spending several hours each day with him for the past week and a half, however.
“No, ma’am. But he’s tearing up his room, so I figured I’d better call.”
“He hasn’t hurt himself, has he?” Jason’s room at the safe house had more amenities than Tristan Clay had initially wanted to provide. She knew her patient was a prisoner. That his quarters were a cell disguised as a modestly comfortable room being monitored every single minute of every single day. It was no different than the military prison where he’d been before Tristan had him transferred into his custody.
And although she might not know the finer ins and outs of what all Tristan and his highly confidential Hollins-Winword actually did—she preferred not to know, actually—she did know that her patient was suspected of having killed his two partners. Tristan was trusting her to either help the man work through his memory loss surrounding the incident, or debunk his condition altogether.
Everyone around Jason seemed to believe he was dangerous. Hayley was still withholding judgment on that. She simply didn’t know enough about the man yet.
“He’s trying to bang up the place pretty good, but he’s not showing any signs of injury,” Adam answered.
At least that was something. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she promised and disconnected the call. “A patient,” she told her grandmother, who was still standing right beside her.
“Oh, Hayley. What about your date?”
To hear Vivian’s tone, canceling was akin to dissing the Queen of England. Hayley scrolled through her cell phone history until she found Seth’s number. “The date’s just going to have to wait,” she said as she headed back into the privacy of her bedroom.
Her call was answered after only a few rings. “It’s Hayley.”
“Chicken out already?” His voice was deep.
“I’m not chickening out.” She tucked the thin phone against her shoulder and yanked her hair back into its customary ponytail. “I have a patient emergency.”
“Yeah. That’s what they all say.”
She caught the reflection of her narrowing eyes in the mirror and hastily smoothed out her face as if he could see through the phone to her severe expression. “I don’t make up things when it comes to my patients.”
“So you make up things when it doesn’t?”
“You’re toying with me.”
“If you unwound a little, you’d be quicker to recognize when a person’s joking.”
Tension that she hadn’t even realized she was feeling released inside her chest. She exhaled and pushed her feet into leather ballet flats. They weren’t on her list of favorites, but they were comfortable and no-nonsense and she’d quickly learned that where her newest patient was concerned, no-nonsense was key. In one of his rare verbal offerings, he’d warned her to save both her coddling and her feminine wiles. The fact that she’d offered neither was immaterial. “I am sorry, Seth.”
“I’ll make sure you make it up to me.”
“Ha ha. Another joke.”
His voice dropped. “No, Doc. That’s a promise. Obviously this is going to take some work.”
She smiled even though a shiver was dancing down her spine. “I guess we’ll see. I’m afraid dinner will probably have to wait until after Casey and Jane’s wedding this weekend.” She had several group sessions that met during the week in the evenings. And Friday would be busy with the wedding rehearsal and the dinner Casey and Jane were having out at their place. “I don’t expect to have any free time until next Sunday at the earliest.”
“Guess it will be back to the microwave for me. When I die from malnourishment, drop a flower on my grave.”
She laughed softly. “I’ll do that. Good night, Seth.”
“Good night, Doc.”
Still smiling, she slid her phone into the side pocket of her briefcase, which usually doubled as her purse, too, and went back out to the living room.
“All work and no play isn’t going to keep you warm at night, dear,” her grandmother