The Doctor Wore Spurs. Leanne Banks

      Two

      Tyler caught Jill as her body slumped in a faint. He swore under his breath. The woman was white as a sheet.

      “Mr. Logan, do you have to do that in the hall?” an anesthesiologist, Bill Johnson, joked as he passed by. “Can’t you use the laundry closet like everyone else?”

      Comedians. He was surrounded by comedians. “She fainted,” he said.

      Bill’s eyes widened and he stopped. “Well, I guess she picked the right place. Let’s get her feet elevated. Oxygen.”

      “No need,” Tyler said, watching Jill’s eyes flutter.

      “She’s pretty. I haven’t seen her around. Who is she?”

      “PR consultant,” Tyler said, moving toward an empty room. “She’s helping get the new wing.”

      “Smart, too. Hey, you want me to carry her?”

      Tyler knew Bill was a player with the women. He felt a wave of protection for Jill as he set her down on the bed. “Keep your paws off her. This isn’t your specialty. You like to put people to sleep, remember.”

      “Yes, but I also wake them up,” he said, poking out his chest.

      “Hey, candy lady, where’d you go?” Tyler asked, and slid his stethoscope against her chest.

      Jill blinked. “I don’t know. I just saw the—” Her slim eyebrows furrowed slightly and she looked away. “Maybe I was more tired than I thought. I never faint. I have never fainted in my life.”

      “What did you eat for lunch?”

      “A pack of crackers, but—”

      Tyler frowned. “You need some food.”

      “I’ll get you a burger,” Bill offered, stepping forward. “I’d like a rain check to take you someplace nicer when you’re feeling better, but—”

      “Not in this century,” Tyler said, and sighed. “This is Dr. Bill Johnson. He puts people to sleep for a living.”

      Bill scowled. “Not women.”

      “He’s worse than I am.” He turned to Bill. “She doesn’t like flirts, Bill.”

      “I’m not a flirt,” Bill said, his gaze fixed on Jill with the intensity of a hunter. “I am a man. At your service,” he added smoothly. “May I get you a burger?”

      Tyler thought he might puke.

      “Not unless it’s a veggie burger,” Jill said with a wry smile. “I don’t really eat beef.”

      Tyler and Bill stared at each other, then roared with laughter.

      “I missed the joke,” Jill said, sitting up.

      “Your secret is safe with us, but since you’re in PR, you might want to remember you’re in Texas,” Tyler said. “Beef country.”

      “You’re saying the Texas Rangers might come after me if I eat a veggie burger?”

      “More likely the Cattlemen’s Association,” Bill said.

      “Is a grilled cheese okay?”

      “Done,” Bill said, and gave Tyler a competitor’s smile. “And you’d probably rather get a ride home with me, since Tyler drives a motorcycle.”

      “The fresh air will do her good,” Tyler said.

      “I can drive myself,” Jill said.

      “No,” Tyler said at the same time Bill did. “Go get her grilled cheese,” he growled.

      Forty-five minutes later she had eaten and was pacing the floor of his office. She batted his hands away when he lifted his stethoscope. “Leave me alone. I’m ready to go.”

      “Okay, let’s get your coat.” He ditched his coat and grabbed his suede jacket.

      “I really can drive myself,” she said firmly.

      “There is no way in hell I’m letting you,” he said just as firmly. “And I’m bigger than you are, so just stop arguing.”

      She made a sound of disgust and stomped out of his office. Tyler’s lips twitched. She was a strange combination. She looked so feminine and composed, a little too cool, as if nothing would shake her, but he’d watched her melt with TJ, and she was clearly embarrassed that she’d fainted. She looked as though she should be shaken and stirred, and he wouldn’t mind doing the job. He knew she wouldn’t take him too seriously, and that made her all the more appealing.

      He escorted her to his bike in the parking lot, and she shook her head. “I’m not dressed for this.”

      Idly noticing the mild temperature and starry night, he pulled a helmet onto his head. “You’re fine. You’re staying at the Winchester Condominiums, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, but—”

      He stopped her protest by putting a helmet on her head. “It’s not far,” he said with a grin. “Just hold on tight.”

      He helped her onto the motorcycle, then slid in front of her. He felt her gingerly put her hands on his back. Tyler pulled her slender hands under his coat and pressed them to his chest. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll stay warmer this way.”

      He felt the inside of her thighs spreading to accommodate his rear end, and a sensual image pulsed through him. Jill, with her silky thighs spreading to accommodate him in a totally different way. He felt a rush of heat and sucked in a breath of air. Then he started the engine.

      He drove through the night to her condominium and helped her off the bike. She fumbled with the helmet and he took it off for her. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a hint of lost-girl look in her eyes. He’d seen flashes of that same look several times throughout the evening and he wondered what or who had caused it.

      “Let me walk you to your door,” he said.

      “That’s not—”

      “Don’t waste your breath. My mother would never forgive me.”

      “You can tell her I excused you,” Jill said in a long-suffering voice.

      Tyler smiled and shook his head. “Not unless we’re planning to hold a séance.”

      Jill whipped her head around to stare at him. “She’s dead?”

      He nodded.

      “I’m sorry. How long?”

      “Too long,” he said, remembering the woman who had personified gentleness, humor and love in his life. “She died twenty-three years ago when my sister, Martina, was born.”

      Jill stopped midstep on the sidewalk and placed her hand on his arm. “During childbirth. How terrible for all of you. Your sister, Martina? Did she survive?”

      He nodded. “Yeah, and she’s pregnant. Not married,” he admitted with a sigh. “Whenever my brother and I ask her about the father, and believe me that is often, she insists the stork is responsible.”

      “Do you worry about her?”

      “Yes,” he said. “And no. Martina is no fragile flower. She’s tough, and she knows if she needs anything, anything at all, she can call Brock or me and we’ll come running.”

      “Lucky lady?” she asked, walking to her doorstep.

      “Maybe,” he said and cracked a half grin. “She might disagree with that on occasion.”

      She slid her hand through her hair and met his gaze. “Thank you.”

      “For catching you when you fell.”