by Em Petrova
“I’ll ruin your handicap.”
“I’ll live with the flak I get from these jerks.” He moved to kiss her cheek goodbye and gripped hands with Jess, Cavanagh and Lennon in farewell. “I’ll see you pussies on the flip side.”
Then without hanging around longer, Shaw left.
The drive to the VA hospital was one he’d driven a few times with his father when the Vietnam vet had issues with his knees. But he’d never been there for his own reasons, since he wasn’t military.
Or technically, he now was. Still, he’d used his newfound ties to set himself up with an appointment with a therapist who was supposed to be top-notch in dealing with vets with stresses and other mental issues. While Shaw was not that bad off, at least to his thinking, he was eager to unload this burden of guilt and get on with living his life.
* * * * *
Shaw’s initial impression of the Office of Mental Health's waiting room was a general feeling of gloom and despair. A few guys slumped in chairs, staring at their hands or into space. One who was leafing rapidly through the pages of a science magazine was bouncing his knees nonstop.
Looking around for the check-in desk, Shaw felt the beige walls close in on him. His heart kicked up its pace, and now he knew why that guy was jiggling so much—the place made Shaw’s skin crawl too.
As he approached the window, the girl looked up with a smile. Then she blinked quickly. “Um, can I help you?”
“Shaw Woodward for Dr. Franklin.”
The list of doctors to choose from had been short, and he’d chosen Franklin right off the top, because Atalee’s last name had been Franklin… before she’d married Johnny. Shaw must be a motherfucking masochist.
“Ah yes, our newest clinician on staff. Just fill out these papers please.” As the receptionist slid the clipboard through the window to him, she did another eye-batting thing. Maybe she had something caught in her lashes or the Texas cedar everyone was known for being allergic to was getting to her.
Shaw accepted the clipboard and snagged a pen from the cupholder. He took a seat as far from the others as possible, which left the four of them spattered through the room, each as anti-social as the next. Maybe it was a necessary trait to get through the shit they had to experience. Don’t get too attached, because your buddy could fall at any time.
Or you could wipe out an entire group of kidnappers, human traffickers and online thieves along with a criminal teenager and end up fucked in the head for months afterward.
Shaw’s general mood made him press hard on the page, and the pen nib dug in, tearing a hole in the paper. He pushed out a sigh and continued filling in the address, medical history and so on.
When he returned the clipboard to the lady at the window again, she blinked several times at him. He looked closer—her eyes weren’t bloodshot.
“Dr. Franklin will be with you soon.”
He nodded and moved back to his seat. The science magazines someone believed would attract vets’ attention did nothing for him, so he just sat there staring at the patterns in the beige carpet, darker tracks that wove through it like an ant farm he’d had as a kid.
While he sat there, he tried to keep his mind from wandering toward reasons he should get up and leave. He clearly needed this—he had no choice but to speak to someone. With luck, it would be a one-off and he wouldn’t have to return.
Briefly, he thought on Nevaeh finishing out his game and wondered what score he’d ended up with, and that led him to thinking about the guys at Nash’s place, having whiskey and ribeye steaks.
He felt his own knee bouncing and shot a look at the other guy, who was now drumming his fingers on his thighs that jiggled up and down.
Suddenly, the receptionist appeared in front of him. He took in the lines of her body. A printed dress skimmed slight curves and ended at sculpted calves.
“Dr. Franklin will see you now. Come with me.” Her voice had a higher pitch.
He stood and she began blinking again. Damn, it seemed the entire place had some tic or another. He followed her through a door and down a hallway. She paused at a door to rap softly. A voice on the other side answered, though Shaw couldn’t make it out, and she popped her head in. “Your patient, Dr. Franklin.”
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t a man’s voice.
When the receptionist stepped aside, Shaw moved to the open door. His heart gave a wild lurch, like a chained animal leaping at a trainer behind a fence.
The woman seated behind her desk had the same thick blonde hair as Atalee. She wore a light blue cardigan primly buttoned up to the neck, and glasses gave her a sexy secretary appeal that any man’s dick would react to.
Then Dr. Franklin looked up and locked eyes on him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck, it’s her.
* * * * *
Atalee couldn’t find a single breath of air in the entire room. Her lungs burned and spots started to waver before her eyes, flashing over what was the most rugged and sexy man she’d ever laid eyes on.
Except she had laid eyes on him. She’d even kissed him on her wedding day once upon a time.
The need to draw air hit her, and she sucked in a breath. Gripping the edge of her desk, she got to her feet. Her receptionist still stood there, and Atalee waved toward her. “Thanks, Danielle.”
The man stared at her. She stared back. Danielle closed the door, leaving them alone. The last time they’d stood like this, he’d told her he was in love with her and she shouldn’t get married.
Turned out, he was right.
“Atalee.” The way he grated out her name, like he was dragging rocks over concrete, had all the hairs on her arms standing on end.
“You’re not Joe Beck.”
“No.” Hoarse. So perfectly rough, like his hand on her back had been against the silk of her wedding gown. “I gave a false name—at least on that form.”
God, she had to get a grip on her emotions. She felt like a glass that had fallen off a table and splintered into a thousand pieces. Dragging those shards close and putting herself back together was essential right now, for her, for Shaw, who’d come here for help under an alias.
What was he even doing in a military hospital?
“How… how did you get past the military part to even get here?” She stiffened her fingers to keep them from visibly shaking, but nothing would help the shivers taking over her stomach.
“I am military.”
Her gaze rode over his cowboy hat, a ridge top style he always preferred, then across his features, each as hardened and chiseled as the next. When she reached his lips, she quickly scuttled past it to his angled jaw stubbled with five o’clock shadow. He wore a blue denim shirt open at the collar, cowboy-style, and jeans settled perfectly low over his hips held in place by a belt with a buckle bearing his name.
A gift from his daddy. All the Woodward males had a buckle like that, a rite of passage or something, she remembered him telling Johnny what seemed like a million years ago.
A long heartbeat passed between them. What had he last said? Oh yes, he was military.
All she could think about was how much she wanted to hug him.
Snap out of it and be professional.
“When did you become military?”
“When did you finally become a doctor?” he returned, bright blue eyes washing over her like a caress.
She swallowed. “Sit down, please.”
He did so, hesitantly, hovering over the sofa cushion for a second. God, he was bigger, more muscled, rougher around the edges—and fully capable of turning on all the dials of her libido that had been non-existent ever since her marriage had turned sour.
Shaw stared at her without pause, and she moved from her desk to the comfy chair she used to speak to patients on a more personal level. Two friends talking about life. Except in this case, she didn’t know if it was possible to speak to him—or even treat him, for that matter. It was a conflict of interest when she’d t
hought about Shaw’s mouth moving over hers, down her throat to suck at her breasts and finally lower, between her—
She gave the entire heap of her thoughts and emotions a firm shove away.
The crease of Shaw’s jaw worked, an instant reminder to that moment in the church. “How’s Johnny?” he grated out.
Damn, could her heart beat any harder? She was going to need a lie-down on her own therapy couch after this, just to recover from the exertion this man had put her through.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I’m divorced.”
Was it providence that she’d gotten her decree just the other day and now Shaw was back in her life? She’d always been a believer that people invited things into their lives when they were ready. What did that say about her case?
“Divorced.” He leveled a look at her.
She nodded. Crossing her legs, she smoothed her trousers over her thighs and hoped Shaw couldn’t read the confusion she was feeling on her face. For years, she’d worked to keep her reactions off her face, because she couldn’t show shock or disappointment in what a patient was telling her.
Somehow, she felt Shaw was seeing right through all that.
Time to take control here.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing. You left the Texas Rangers?”
“Not exactly.” His hand, in a relaxed fist, settled on his thigh.
His very thick thigh, straining against his Levi’s.
She swallowed.
While to outward appearances, he was calm, she noted how his lips tightened at the corners.
“Okay. Well, what brings you in here today?” Even if she couldn’t help him due to their personal connection, she had him here and he clearly had come for a reason. The idea that he needed real help from her made her heart flex.
He was silent a moment, his eyes roving over her face.
A flush stole over her, and she hoped to hell it didn’t land in her cheeks and reveal what she was feeling.
“You were referred here because I listen to men and women who’ve seen combat and struggle to process some of the things they’ve seen or done. Is this the case with you, Shaw?”
He was quiet, his brows not quite drawn together but pretty close.
“If you don’t feel you can confide in me because of our link, then I totally understand and can provide you with a referral to one of my colleagues. Dr. Eris is very well known for—”
“No. You’re good.”
Why did that word—good—seem to fill some void inside her? The tension in her belly tightened like a vise.
Atalee wet her lips, and his stare locked onto her mouth. The flipping sensation low in her body had her mind skidding off the tracks again.
“Look, Shaw. I really shouldn’t speak to you since we are—were—friends.”
“I’m with a special ops unit,” he said at once.
His admission pinned her back to her seat. “That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”
He hitched a boot over his knee and shifted on the sofa. It was impossible for her to stop looking at him like a woman looks at a man she’s attracted to. No, not just attracted to—gut-wrenchingly crazy for. Scratching an itch with this hard, broad Texas Ranger turned special ops man was everything she’d been dreaming of since she and Johnny had split.
“My father sold off all his horses,” Shaw said.
She rolled with the abrupt change in topic and nodded. “Was it something he’d been planning for a while?”
“Not really. But ranchin’ is hard, especially small operations like our family’s, and I guess he realized it was best to get out while the numbers in his checkbook were still in the black.”
She contemplated him and the subject matter. He clearly wasn’t ready to discuss his true reason for coming to therapy, and she was okay with that. She’d seen it before, many times in the family practice she’d worked at. Sometimes it was a deflection, an ice breaker. Other times it was the patient’s way of avoiding the touchy subjects and stalling. Either way, she was listening.
That smooth drawl of Shaw’s had her body coming to life. How many times had she turned those words he’d said on her wedding day over and over in her mind? Countless.
As he continued to speak, telling her about how his father had lost one of his favorite horses to old age, and then up and sold all but a few, Atalee focused on the man sitting before her, the man she’d never expected to see again—the man who’d suddenly popped back into her life.
Chapter Three
What the ever-lovin’ hell was Atalee doing here? And divorced. Jesus.
Had Johnny hurt her, the way Shaw had always believed he would? Shaw was ready to storm out of the building, find the man and personally mop the floor with him for all the things he imagined he’d done to hurt this woman.
She was free.
Dammit.
As he talked, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. How was it that two years had only amplified her beauty? She’d grown into her loveliness with a grace and self-confidence she hadn’t had before. The way she sat with her legs crossed so elegantly and those glasses perched on her face had Shaw’s cock shoving at his fly.
“Does it make you upset that your father sold the stock? Was it your dream to someday inherit and run the ranch?” She removed her glasses, holding them by the stem in one hand as she looked at him head-on.
He might as well be looking down the barrel of a 50-caliber—the effect she had on him was just as devastating.
“Would be some years before I could take over the ranch. I never had plans for that—I always wanted to go into law enforcement.”
She nodded. Her hair was pulled back at her nape with some loose tendrils framing her face. What he wouldn’t do to tug that band loose and let all her hair down into his hands as he slanted his mouth over hers.
“You could still buy more horses and start it up again, in time.” Her comment was lost on him a moment as he got over-involved watching her lips, imagining all the ways he could kiss her. Soft, nibbling… or with long swipes of his tongue.
He gave a nod. “Guess I could. My dad kept a couple, though, for ridin’. Said he couldn’t go cold turkey from rancher to empty barn.”
Why was he talking nonsense?
Because he couldn’t bring himself to say what he really wanted—which was that he still fucking loved her.
He sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not here because I’m crazy.”
She set her glasses aside on a small table and looked at him. “Coming to see someone for help doesn’t make you crazy, Shaw.”
Damn, did she have to speak his name that way—all breathy and warm, so he thought of laying her back on a mattress and gliding into her tight heat?
“Those guys out there—I’m not like them.”
“No two people are alike.”
His chest felt weightier than when he’d entered the room. He couldn’t talk to Atalee—she was too close to his heart, and he couldn’t risk letting her see more things to dislike about him, when she probably already hated him for what he’d done on her wedding day.
Shoving to his feet, he looked down at her. “I’ll move on.”
“Wait. Shaw, if you can’t speak to me, then at least let me refer you to—”
“There are other coping mechanisms to explore, and I’ll find them.”
She moved to stand as well, following him to the door. He wrapped his fingers around the handle, battling the surge of need to turn and pull her into his arms. Her light perfume wafted to him.
“Shaw, there’s no reason to go this alone, and clearly you or even your superior officer has reason to bring you here. What happens here in this room is about you finding peace with whatever brought you here in the first place.”
He couldn’t look at her for fear of lifting her, spinning her to the door and pinning her against it. But he felt her nearness like a flame licking over his
skin.
If he didn’t leave now, he never would.
He twisted the handle and opened the door.
“Thanks for your time, Atalee.”
“Shaw.”
He paused with a boot over the threshold.
“Next week, same time.”
Fucking hell.
He nodded and walked out. He must be a goddamn lunatic to agree to see her again, but even as he thought it, he was acutely aware of the very excited pounding of his heart.
* * * * *
Atalee closed the door and leaned on it. Bringing one hand to her lips, she fought to control the dark need Shaw had raised in her with his gritty tone. Seeing him again, and so soon after her divorce was final, had her mind skipping like pebbles across the surface of a pond. The ripples on the surface of her being were only what was visible—deep down, she felt the bigger waves and all she could do was hold onto the side of the life raft.
What had brought him here? Her eyes were trained to see things patients attempted to mask from the world. The tightening of his fist on his knee, the tension in his shoulders and that solemn mouth of his showed her more than he probably cared for her to see.
She wanted to help him, because Shaw was a good man and deserved all the happiness he could find for himself, even if that had nothing to do with her. She could remain professional enough to treat him—she knew it.
Though, a slippery stirring between her thighs made her question her own motives. If she was honest with herself, she felt too hot all over, as if he’d just cornered her in that bridal suite again and kissed the daylights out of her.
She sent a look to the sofa where he’d been sitting, imagining how ruggedly striking he looked. Changed, hardened.
You were right about Johnny, she wanted to call him back to tell him. He couldn’t love me the way I needed it.
All of a month had passed following her honeymoon for her to realize the man had quickly sunk into old married ways, plopping on the couch with the remote and unable to give her the attention she needed in order to feel loved. Shaw had known that long before they’d tied the knot, it seemed, but how?
She gathered herself enough to walk out to the receptionist desk.