Dr. Hot Stuff (Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Book 9)

by Tawna Fenske

  “Backup?” My surprise is nearly as evident as his. Apparently, he didn’t mean to say this. “Will someone else be joining us then?”

  With a scowl, he lowers the gun. “Wait. Don’t you have some kind of liver thing?”

  I’m unsure why this matters or if it’s worth clarifying the difference between kidneys and liver, but I give a curt nod and keep fluttering my neckline. “If I could just have some water—”

  “Jesus, don’t faint or puke or whatever.” He backs away, gun still gripped in his hand. “I had a cousin with liver disease. Grossest thing ever when she dehydrated.”

  “It’s certainly unpleasant for all involved.” I gaze up at him with the faintest flutter of my lashes, projecting every inch of demure duchess I used to be.

  But that’s not who I am now. Not who I need to be.

  As I watch with dumbfounded elation, Skullcap backs slowly into the kitchen. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, nor move the trajectory of his gun. Still watching, he fumbles behind him for the handle of a cupboard.

  My head is pounding, but I offer my sweetest smile and flutter my neckline some more. “Goodness, I’m dizzy.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” He snaps his head around to peer in the cupboard he’s cracked open. Pots. Pans. No glasses.

  I use these scant, precious seconds to glance at the keypad, confirming I’ve got my numbers right. If I guess wrong, I’m finished.

  Three is on the top right and that’s letter E.

  Five is in the middle—

  “Who the fuck doesn’t keep glasses next to the sink?” Skullcap bangs the cupboard shut and looks at me. “You’re lucky I’m feeling kind.”

  If threatening rape and murder is this guy’s idea of kind, I’m in trouble. I already knew that, but the reality sends a fresh rush of adrenaline gurgling through me. “I so appreciate your charity.”

  “Mmph.” With the gun still aimed at me, he opens another cupboard.

  I seize the moment to look down again quickly.

  The four corresponds with letter I, and that’s middle left.

  Then the A, which would be—

  “Where’s your phone?”

  I blink at him and touch the space between my breasts. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your phone, princess.” He makes a noise of disgust. “Your goddamn phone.”

  I slip my hand from the safe, desperate to show I’m not up to anything. How long do I have before the electronic keypad resets and I have to start over?

  “Right there.” I point and watch his gaze dart to where I dropped my clutch beside the door. “Did you need something?”

  This distraction buys me enough time to reach down and punch another letter.

  S.

  Elias.

  Dante’s childhood pig. The Duke’s middle name. It’s my best guess, and right now, it’s all I’ve got.

  Now where’s the button for “enter?” I missed that part, and I don’t dare look now.

  “I need to make sure you’re not trying anything funny,” he mutters. Glancing at my clutch, he decides it’s far enough from my reach not to pose any threat. “Don’t move.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I slip my free hand back to my neckline and fan it some more. “I really appreciate you fetching me some water.”

  “Fuck.” He drags his gaze off me long enough to find the knob on the cupboard flanking the other side of the sink.

  Long enough for me to glance down and see the button, bright red and hopeful, at the bottom of the keypad.

  Please, let this be it.

  I press the button and a shrill beep blasts through the room.

  “What the fuck?” Skullcap slams the cupboard door shut and glares at me. “What was that?”

  I consider playing dumb, but he’ll never buy it. “It’s an alarm on my phone reminding me to take my medication.” I hesitate. “Herpes. I have to take my prescription at precise intervals, or the sores and zosters will be out of control.”

  I’m not sure if this makes him less inclined to rape me, but the answer satisfies him. And freaks him out a bit, if I’m reading him right. Skullcap eyes me for a moment, gun still pointed right at me. “Stupid bitch,” he says, and turns back to the cupboard.

  I hold my breath and feel around for a button. Or a lever or something to pop open the door on this safe. I’m not confident I guessed right on the code, but that beep buoyed my hopes.

  Bradley’s eyes flash in my brain and I force myself to breathe deeply. To remember what’s at stake here.

  “Ah ha!” Skullcap holds up a water glass in triumph. “Found it.”

  “Thank you.” My heart hammers in my ears as I wait for him to turn and face the sink to get the water. Just a few more seconds, that’s all I need. “Might I have a twist of lemon?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Concluding I’m too insipid to be a threat, Skullcap shoves the gun in his waistband and reaches for the faucet. “You get tap water. No fucking Perrier, no goddamn cucumber slices—”

  “I truly appreciate this.” I say a prayer and press the button.

  I’m braced for another beep. I’m braced for nothing at all.

  I’m braced for….the safe door swinging open?

  The cold metal creaks, and relief floods through me. Fast as I can, I shove my hand inside and grab the first object in my grasp. Hands shaking, I leap to my feet and draw the gun up in front of me.

  “Freeze, motherfucker.”

  That sounded braver in my head, but my hand is steady as I aim the gun at his chest.

  Skullcap gapes at me as the water glass falls from his hand and shatters in the sink. “What the f—”

  “I said freeze.” With one finger on the trigger, I risk a glance at the firearm I’ve grabbed. It’s the Glock with a silencer, the one I saw that first day. Breathing hard, I pray I’ll be brave enough to use it.

  I pray harder I won’t have to.

  Skullcap shakes his head, then sneers. “You think I’m gonna believe you can fire a fucking nine-millimeter? That you’ve got the balls to shoot someone?”

  “I’ve had a bad week.” My finger trembles on the trigger. I don’t want to shoot. I just want him to leave.

  He snorts. “You make this too easy.”

  His hand whips to the gun at his waist, and he draws it up to point at me. “Bye, Princess.”

  I yelp as he squeezes the trigger, dropping to my knees on the knotty pine floor. Something whizzes past my ear, but the sound is more a snap than a gun blast. It takes me a moment to realize his gun has a silencer.

  Also, that he missed me.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  He raises his weapon to fire again, and I don’t hesitate. I aim and squeeze the trigger at the same time, scrunching my eyes shut. The gun bucks in my hand, and there’s a whiff of sulfur, accompanied by the same muffled crack.

  A third bang goes off, this one louder than the other two. I open my eyes and whip my gaze toward the hall. To the place where the third shot rang out.

  “Holy shit.”

  Cort Bracelyn steps through the bathroom doorway, pistol gripped in his hand. He wears a blonde wig and mustache, but I’d recognize him anywhere. The green of his eyes is masked by colored contacts, but I know the shape of them from photos.

  He’s not looking at me. He’s staring down at Skullcap on the floor. At the bullet hole blooming bright crimson in the center of the man’s forehead. The center, not the side.

  You fired that shot. Not him. You did it, Izzy.

  I push the thought aside and gape at the man whose cheekbones match mine.

  “Son of a bitch.” My father shoves a pistol in the waistband of his slacks and looks at me. “Nice shot, darlin’”

  I stare at him with my mouth wide open. “I—you—holy shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the other kids said.” He laughs like this is hilarious, but I’m shaking too hard to see the humor. “Seriously, girl—that was a badass shot.”

  “Th—thank
you,” I manage to stammer. “I took shooting lessons.”

  “I know.” He steps over to me and offers a hand up. “I paid for ‘em.”

  My mother told me once that Cort Bracelyn sent money for my protection. I never grasped what that meant, but as he hoists me to my feet, I understand. “You did?”

  “Yep.” He jerks his gaze to the doorway. “Paid for him, too.”

  I turn to see Dante’s bulk filling the doorframe. He’s got a gun trained on Skullcap, in case the bullet in the man’s brain wasn’t enough to keep him down.

  “Took me a minute to get here.” Still gripping a pistol, Dante steps fully into the room. “This guy had some friends I needed to deal with.”

  I swallow hard and lower the gun I didn’t realize I’m still holding. “Where’s Kevin?”

  “Safe.” Dante lowers his own weapon and surveys me. “You okay?”

  I nod, though I’m not sure that’s true. I turn back to my father, half convinced he’s a figment of my imagination.

  But no, my not-so-deceased dad is moving toward me, holding out his hand. “Give me that.”

  “The gun?” I grip it tighter, struggling to know whom to trust. “What for?”

  “Because I’m dead,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can’t be prosecuted for murder. You, on the other hand—”

  “He’s right.” Dante jerks his chin at my father. “Give it to him. Or to me, and then get the hell out of here.”

  “But—” I swing my gaze back to the body on the floor. “I killed someone.”

  I don’t know this for sure. There were three shots fired, and as far as I can tell, only one hit the man on the floor. Dante steps in front of me, blocking my view. He holds out his hand, and when I look in his eyes, there’s a kindness there I’ve never seen.

  “Killing a man can mess you up.” He flicks a glance at my father. “He fired the kill shot. You’re clear.”

  I recognize what he’s offering me. An out, a chance to wash my hands of blame. It’s an unexpected mercy, though I’m not sure I want it.

  But I do know I trust him. I may have saved my own life just now, but these men had my back. If I’d faltered, if I’d missed, they would have covered me.

  I don’t know why, but the thought makes me feel stronger instead of weak. I lay the gun in Dante’s palm, then turn to the man who gave me his DNA.

  “You’re here,” I say. “You’re really here.”

  The man who knocked up my mother shrugs like it’s no big deal to return from the dead. “I come to all my kids’ weddings.” A frown as he considers this. “Some disguises are better than others.”

  “I see.” I don’t, though. I have so many questions, and I don’t know where to start.

  Which is okay, because Cort Bracelyn has something to say. He steps up beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder. It’s oddly paternal, though I have little frame of reference.

  “I understand you’ve got one coming up,” he says. “Wedding, I mean.”

  I stare at him as his meaning sinks in. As Bradley’s face flits through my brain, his words echo once more through my skull.

  “Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye.”

  “You’re mistaken.” I lick my lips and look my father dead in the eye. “I’m not getting married.”

  His eyes flash with surprise. “Oh?”

  I nod, savoring the surge of self-reliance pulsing through me. “I’m done being anyone’s puppet. I’m making my own decisions from here on out.”

  “Ha!” He squeezes my shoulder, making me jump. “That’s my girl.”

  “I’m no one’s girl.” I lift my chin, ignoring the sight of Dante dragging Skullcap’s body from the room. “I’m a goddamn woman with free will.”

  “Damn right you are.” My father grins. “Fiery, just like your mother.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, but I’m spared the need to respond when Dante slips back into the room. “You need to get out of here. Deadeye is on his way.”

  “You mean Bradley?” Panic surges up my throat. “What for?”

  “I texted him,” Dante says. “Thought we might need backup.”

  Cort laughs, pounding a hand on the back of the sofa. “You underestimate my daughter.”

  “Everyone does,” I say.

  But not anymore.

  I meant what I said. I’m done letting other people call the shots. Done being a puppet for my parents’ ambitions. It’s time for me to decide what I want.

  And what I want, more than anything, is another shot with Bradley.

  “Izzy?”

  I gasp and turn toward the door. He stands there in a suit with his tie askew, a pistol gripped in one hand. He lowers it when he sees me, blue eyes flashing. “Are you okay?”

  I have never been so okay in my life. True, I’ll probably need gobs of therapy, and my legs might not hold me up much longer.

  But right now, I’m very much okay.

  “Bradley.” I take a step toward him. “You’re here.” I glance at the gun. “And armed.”

  Surveying the room behind me, he holds the pistol at the ready. “I keep it in the truck. I was told you might need help.”

  I step toward him, heart thudding in my ears. “False alarm.” I swallow hard, still dumbfounded he’s here. “You came for me.”

  He takes a step forward, nose crinkling. “Is that gunpowder?”

  “Um, yes. Yes, it is.” I glance behind me, not at all surprised to see my father has vanished.

  Dante stands stone-faced at the threshold of the dining room. Glancing from Bradley to me and back again, he nods once. “I’m gonna grab the pig.”

  He moves past us with a chin-jerk at Bradley, closing the door behind him.

  And then we’re alone. Well, as alone as we get with my fake-dead father and a real-dead thug somewhere on the premises.

  I square my shoulders and meet Bradley’s eye. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  His expression turns wary. “I think I’ve heard that before.”

  This poor man. I’ve forever ruined that entrée to conversation, but it’s not too late to start over. At least I hope it isn’t.

  I reach for his hand. “I love you.”

  He blinks. “What?”

  “I love you, Bradley.” I squeeze his fingers tight, willing him to believe me. “That part is an accident. Maybe not an accident. Maybe fate or destiny or something like that. But loving you, then choosing what to do about it—that’s a choice I never thought I had.”

  I’m not sure I’m making sense, but he nods at me like he’s following. “Has something changed?”

  Everything’s changed, starting with the fact that I just discovered I’m a whole lot stronger than I thought I was.

  But this isn’t about me. It’s about Bradley, and the future I hope to have with him.

  “There are a lot of things I’m going to need to tell you.” I think of the dead assassin somewhere in this house and decide five minutes before a wedding reception is not the time to go there. “Eventually,” I add. “But right now, I just need you to know how sorry I am.”

  His eyes soften, but he’s still guarded. I don’t blame him one bit. “For what, Iz?”

  “For not being brave enough to fight for you. For us, for our right to be together. But I’m done listening to anyone else. I’m done making decisions that don’t put you and me at the center of it all because that’s the most important thing in the whole world.”

  He tilts his head, fingers flexing in mine. “There’s still a you and me?”

  There’s a cockiness in his voice that wasn’t there a second ago. He knows damn well I want him, but he wants to hear me to say it.

  Fair enough.

  “Dr. Bradley Parker.” I reach for his other hand, binding us together completely. “From the first minute I met you at Bree’s wedding when I was in acute kidney failure, to the moment you gave me a pig, this has
been an unconventional courtship.”

  He grins and squeezes my hands. “I like unconventional.”

  “Good, because I’m through with convention. Screw arranged marriages and royal titles and family expectations. Screw everything except the right to be happy with the person I love.” I bite my lip. “If he’s still willing to give me a chance.”

  Bradley’s smile widens. “Are we talking about me in the third person? I got a little confused, but it sounds kinda like you’re into me.”

  “So into you.” I slide my arms around his waist, daring to embrace him like I’ve wanted for days. “I never knew loving someone could happen without losing myself. But you made it happen. You give me the strength and the courage to figure out who I am, who I want to be. Then you got the hell out of my way and let me walk on my own two feet to get there.”

  His chest vibrates under my cheek, and I realize he’s laughing. “If we get married someday,” he says between gulps of laughter. “That’s going in the wedding vows—‘to love, honor, and get the hell out of my way.’”

  I laugh, too, but tears tickle the backs of my eyelids. I’m not sure he realizes how much this means to me. The chance to discover my own personhood, walking beside a man who’s poised to love me no matter what.

  Pressing a palm to his chest, I draw back to look in his eyes. “I know it’s customary for American men to do the proposing, but I want you to know I’d marry the hell out of you any day of the week.”

  “God, Izzy.” He laughs and touches my cheek. “I don’t doubt we’ll get there. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of the journey.”

  “So am I.” There’s more I need to say, but we have time. So much time, stretching out in front of us like a future I never dared to imagine but always wished I could have. “I love you, Bradley.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Muffled applause sounds from somewhere down the hall, slow and thunderous and joyful. I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing this is about to get awkward. Knowing there’s a whole lot of awkwardness to face, starting with my not-dead father clapping, and ending with the fact that I’ll have to tell my parents I’m not coming home.

  But right now, in this moment, I know I can face anything with Bradley.