by Harper Sloan
Cold water fills my veins and I slap him, hard enough to feel the burn of impact after his head jerks to the side.
"You, Tatum Montgomery, can kiss my fuckin' boots."
I don't give him another glance. I spin around and dash down the hallway. It isn't until I hit the top of the stairs that I realized I'm in Fisher Ford's house. It'll be a long walk back to the Davis ranch, but with the rage fueling my every step, I bet I'll make it quicker than Usain Bolt on the Olympic track.
I hear him yelling my name, but I don't turn. I pick up speed, running down his driveway and onto the street. Just before I'm out of sight of the old Ford place, I turn and see Tate's hulking Adonis form standing on the porch. His arms are crossed over his impressive chest, and the erection behind his black briefs is visible even from the end of the driveway.
"This isn't over, Quinn!" he bellows.
My feet stumble, but I catch myself, spinning around before I hit a stand of trees into which I can vanish. "Seriously, kiss my damn boots, Tatum Montgomery!"
Naturally, after that burst of defiance from my brain, I turn and kick up rocks in my rush to escape him, because right now I'm pretty sure I don't want anything to be over. My mind turns me toward home a second later and I'm out of his view. Without thought, having pushed the last thirty minutes from my mind, I run harder than I've ever run in my life. My sockless feet scream inside my boots for me to slow down, but nervous fear keeps my legs pumping as I sprint the three miles back to my house, Tate's stolen shirt puffing out behind me like a cape.
It isn't until I'm panting in the middle of my bedroom that I realize I was crying.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
9
TATE
"Song for Another Time" by Old Dominion
- -
"Dr. Montgomery," a hesitant voice calls through the crack in my door.
"Yes?" I ask with a harsh bite to my tone.
"I . . . uh, well, we were wonderin' if you wanted us to cancel the appointments that you have tomorrow. That is, if you, uh, need more time or anything."
I frown, leaning back in Paw's--no, my desk chair. "Carrie, is it?" I ask.
"Yes, sir," she whispers.
God, have I been that bad? "Thanks for askin', Carrie, but I'll be fine. I'm caught up on what I need to know, so no need to push things back for another day." It takes more effort than I care to admit to keep my voice calm. It isn't her fault I've been kicking my ass for the last four days since I arrived in Pine Oak.
I see one brown eye widen through the crack of my door before she sputters in shock, leaving just as quickly as she came. Goddammit. I can't have the staff here afraid of me. The last thing a woman needs when she arrives for an appointment with the one doctor she dreads going to each year is to find a staff that is afraid of the very one she's seeing.
Needless to say, my first days as the new gynecologist in Pine Oak aren't going well.
Not because of my abilities as a doctor, but because I've officially made every employee terrified of me. Okay, that might be a stretch, but these ladies have been used to my paw's gentle-giant nature and now they've got me--a grumpy-as-fuck beast snarling at everyone that even looks at me.
I'm not officially taking on any patients yet, thank God, or I reckon I wouldn't even be able to keep any with my temper sparked. The last two days since I've been here I've spent going over Paw's files, familiarizing myself with the few higher-risk pregnancies he was dealing with, and trying to get a good sense of how the staff works.
Dr. Lyons, the other doctor that worked with Paw for as long as I could remember, is the only one not paying any mind to my surly mood. Hell, he's been acting like the sun shines out of my ass, so damn happy that I'm taking over Paw's practice that he's probably blind to the fact that I'm pissin' vinegar. He had been fully prepared--albeit grudgingly--to buy out the parts of their practice Paw had owned, but I let him know real quick that I wanted nothing more than take the position Paw had always hoped I would one day hold.
Leaning back in my seat, I let my mind wander to the very reason I've been in such a shitty mood since Saturday morning.
Quinn.
Or, rather, my behavior toward Quinn.
I was so wrapped up in seeing her again that I let it get the best of me. Instantly, I forgot that I should be proceeding with care and caution. Innocent mistake, since I had just woken up after having her almost completely naked body wrapped around my body all night. My mind hadn't even turned all the way on before my mouth was spewing words I was powerless to stop, my hands moving without conscious thought, only wanting to feel her close a little bit longer.
I should have told her right off that nothing happened between us the night I took her home from the bar. I could have gotten her clothes out of the dryer I stuffed them in before I crashed, having stayed up after she passed out to wash the vomit off of them. Not that they would have been any good to her, since I washed them in bleach, my drunken mind not able to actually wash them correctly, just knowing I needed to get her barf off before it ruined them. We could have had breakfast together while I explained to her the truth behind my departure. But, most importantly, I wouldn't have been able to reassure her that I wouldn't ever take advantage of her like I know she left thinking I did.
Now, not only do I have to move mountains to just get her to agree to see me again, but I have a feelin' the hurdles I need to jump to earn her heart back just got a lot higher.
On top of all that, I had to call my phone company this morning to have Ella's number blocked so she can't contact me. She just can't get a clue and honestly, I'm sick of it. I'm not taking any chances. At least this way it's fucking done with, and I pray to God things work out with Quinn and me, and that Ella will never be a fucking factor. I've got enough of the past trying to ruin things because of what I did: the last thing I want to do is add to that with a meaningless hookup making waves.
With a loud sigh, I stand from the desk and stretch my back. The tails of my flannel come untucked from my dark jeans--something I never would have been able to wear back in Georgia, but a comfort I'm afforded now that I'm back in Texas. I don't even bother to fix them: instead, I make my way out of the office and to the front desk. The office is empty now that five has hit, but the two nurses and a receptionist are still milling around. I see Carrie, the appointment and file clerk, and give her a smile. It's time to make a fresh start.
"Ladies," I greet, gaining each of their hesitant eyes. "I wanted to apologize for my mood the last two days. It wasn't my intention to have y'all's first impression of my abilities and me as a doctor be tainted with some personal issues I let carry me through the doors. Y'all have my promise that it won't happen again, and I hope we can forget this unfortunate start and move forward. I know my paw left me some mighty shoes to fill, but I'll do my damnedest to make sure I don't let his memory or y'all's trust down."
Each of them looks shocked by the time I finish talking, but just as quickly as that shock filled them, they smile. Carrie gives me a shy nod. Rebecca, one of the nurses, does the same.
"Consider it forgotten, son," Claire, the receptionist who's been here as long as the doors have been open, says while smiling up at me.
"One thing's for sure, you got your temper from Fisher," Gladys, another nurse and longtime staff member, snorts. Her laughter lightens the mood instantly.
"Reckon so, Gladys," I agree with a smile, remembering how hot my paw's temper could really get in the rare instances that he let someone get under his skin.
"I'm gonna go tell Russ to head on out. You ladies should get home, too. I'm just goin' to spend some more time goin' over the patients I have tomorrow."
"Dr. Lyons already headed out, Dr. Montgomery."
"Well, then you ladies should follow his lead and go home too. We're not likely to get any patients in the next hour we're supposed to be open, since my schedule is clear." I sigh with a smile.
They all relax visibly and start to move around the
reception area. I grab the check-in clipboard and start straightening out the pens in the small coffee-bean pot while I wait for them to finish so that I can lock up behind them.
Mindlessly focused on the pamphlets I moved on to after the pens, I don't hear Gladys right away, her cold-as-hell hand reaching out to lightly grab my wrist, pulling me from my thoughts. "Uh, are you sure you didn't take an appointment and forget to put it on the books?"
I frown. "I'm sure, Gladys. Why do you ask?"
"Well, this should be interesting then," she oddly murmurs under her breath right before the front door opens so hard it slams against the wall before flinging back toward its frame, stopping when a palm smacks against it.
The pamphlets in my hand are instantly forgotten when I see who's standing just outside the front door of the old house just off Main Street that my paw converted into his practice almost fifty years ago.
"You," she growls low, lips thinned and eyes narrowed. The hand that isn't holding the front door open is pointed at me, but other than lifting it to do so, she hasn't moved an inch.
"Quinn, honey, did you have an appointment today?" Gladys, bless her heart, questions in an attempt to extinguish some of the fire spewing from Quinn's posture alone.
Quinn snorts, clearing her expression before looking away from me, smiling sweet as sugar at Gladys. "No, ma'am, I do not."
"Did you want to make one, honey?"
"Oh, no. I definitely do not."
I hear Gladys moving some papers around but interrupt her before she can further question the tempting vixen in front of me. Who would have thought someone clearly wanting to murder me would be so fuckin' sexy?
"You go on home, Gladys. Quinn's not here for any appointment you'll find on the books. Reckon she's here because we've got some unfinished business to discuss," I say, smiling at Gladys while her mouth twitches, not realizing just how that sounded until I feel a sharp, poking finger on my shoulder.
A second later, that smile is wiped right off my face. I turn from Gladys, and just before my eyes connect with the heated emerald irises I only saw in my fuckin' dreams for years, Quinn's ire slams full force into me, just as powerful as a physical blow.
"Unfinished business my ass, you good-for-nothin' asshole." She checks me with her shoulder, hitting me just under my pec since she's so damn short, before stomping down the hallway and into my new office.
Rubbing my chest, I give the ladies a nod. "If you don't mind, I'll see y'all out before I go take care of the spitfire in my office."
Not having to be told twice, everyone moves a little quicker before leaving. I lock the door and take a deep, hopefully calming, breath before following the path Quinn just fumed down moments before.
I find her pacing in front of the desk. Not wanting to give her the reach to inflict any more damage, I rest my shoulder against the frame and watch her move. Her long, dark-as-night hair has some highlights dancing through the thickness that I don't remember seeing the other morning. Other than that, though, she doesn't look like she's aged at all since the summer I left. Even covered by the worn jeans she's wearing, her legs look just as long and toned as they used to be. I know from the other night that her stomach is still firm and smooth. Even though she had a bra on the other morning, I imagine her chest is just as impressive bared as it was the night she rode my body, giving me a piece of her that no man had ever had.
She's beautiful. Always had been, but now she's got the confidence that an eighteen-year-old could never understand, let alone exude.
"Stop lookin' at me like that, Starch."
I look down my body, ignoring the very noticeable bulge of my hard-as-fuck cock, before raising a brow at Quinn. "Not sure that nickname works anymore, sweetheart. A lot's changed since my parents forced me to dress the part of perfect socialite son and private-school robot."
"Oh, really?" She sneers. "You wouldn't find a soul around here with shirts as pressed as yours. Tell me, did Daddy Dearest buy that shiny truck with his dirty oil money, or the shit he gets from being the biggest banker in East Texas?"
"Neither, Grease. I don't talk to my parents anymore, let alone let them buy shit for me. Bought the 'shiny truck' myself," I answer, calmly, even if mention of my father's "dirty oil money" is enough to fire me up. She has no idea how dangerous that man and his ill-gotten gains can be.
She snorts, the sound mocking and full of disbelief.
"I've never lied to you before, Quinn, wouldn't start now."
"No," she says low and dangerously. "Your method of bullshit is a little less untruths, a little more blatant abandonment."
"Quinn," I breathe, the word coming out nothing short of pleading.
"No, Tate," she interrupts. Her pacing stops and she straightens her shoulders, turning to face me with anger still swirling in her eyes. "You've been gone a long time. You can't just come back and expect there not to be consequences to your bullshit."
"Not that I don't agree with you, but I can assure you there would have been far worse consequences had I come back before now."
Her head tilts just a second before her bottom lip rolls inward, her teeth capturing it instantly. The adorable move I had forgotten about hits me right in my gut. It never failed: when she was deep in thought, she would do the same damn thing. It's easy to forget that there is the distance of stolen time between us when those memories are slamming into my brain, making the years slip away.
"Explain that," she finally demands, softly but no less pissed.
"You got that kinda time, sweetheart?"
"Seein' as the only thing that demands my attention right now is the bargainin' chip you used to get to me in the first place, I'd say yeah."
"I didn't exactly make a secret out of that."
"Anyone with a brain in their head could've fixed up Fisher's old truck. There's a reason you demanded it be me, and we both know it."
Pushing off the doorframe, I walk into the office and pull out one of the two chairs in front of my desk, making a point to tip my head toward it, waiting for her to sit--with a huff, I might add--before dropping down into the one next to her. Close enough that I could reach out and take her in my arms, if I was so inclined, but also far enough away that she has space.
"I don't even know where to start with you," I tell her honestly, leaning back and running my fingers through my hair. "I should start by apologizin' for the other mornin'. Nothin' happened that night, Quinn. I was just stuck in my head, not even fully awake, not that that's an excuse. I let myself get stuck in the past, seein' you there, and I'm sorry for that."
"I figured that out on my own, Tate. Either your dick shrunk or you forgot how to work it, because had we actually hooked up, I would have felt it. And I didn't. Feel it, that is," she smarts off. It's on the tip of my tongue to reply with something crass and she doesn't miss a beat. "Shut your damn mind off, Tate."
I hold my hands up. "Do you remember anything from that night?"
"I remember Leighton and Maverick leavin' the bar. Gettin' a message from Mav that Randy would be keepin' his eye on me. Clay was gone already. Then things get a little fuzzy."
I nod. "Ran into you at the bar well after 'fuzzy,' because you couldn't even walk. You started pukin' right after that, around the same time you tossed the wig you had been wearin' into the bushes behind the bar and told who I'm assumin' is Randy to fuck off because you were goin' to ride a cowboy. I finally got you to stop pukin' long enough to get you back to Paw's place. I would have taken you home, honest to God, but you were passed out and wouldn't tell me where home was now."
"I'm still at the ranch," she whispers. "You could have just brought me to the ranch and left me on the porch," she continues, some of the anger dissipating from her earlier harsh tone.
"Yeah." I laugh without humor. "That wouldn't have ever happened."
"Doesn't explain how I got naked."
"Did you miss the part about you pukin'? Covered yourself and me. Mark's buddy got us back here, but I wasn't exactly s
ober, Quinn. I did the best I could with one fuckin' twisted-up head."
"Explain what you said earlier." Her change of subject makes me have to backpedal a bit, and I clearly take too much time to rewind our conversation, because she lets out a long, irritated sigh. "About consequences, Tate."
Goddammit. I knew this moment would come: it had to, if I really wanted a chance to fix the future I took away from us, but I know this isn't going to end well. I don't know if the truth will cause her to hate me more for not fighting for our chance back then or, even worse, make her understand and still hate me.
"I was blackmailed." The words burst from my lips, and with my heart about to pound out of my chest, I hurry to explain. Quinn's so still she doesn't even look like she's breathing. "The day I left, I went home and told my parents that I wanted to transfer from Emory and enroll at Baylor. Houston wouldn't have been right next door, but it would have been a helluva lot closer than Atlanta. Didn't even finish my sentence before my father was shovin' me against the wall. He told me he would cut me off if I even thought about it." I focus on the wall behind her, needing to get everything out. "It didn't matter to me. I could put school off until I came into my trust fund. It would suck, but I would have done it. I didn't want his money, but he reminded me real quick his power resides in a lot more than just money."
Unable to look away any longer, I turn my attention to her. She's so still, but her face is awash with a weird expression of understanding.
"We fought. I'm surprised the damn windows didn't explode with the volume of our screamin'. When he realized he wouldn't win by takin' away my financial stability, he hit me where he knew it would hurt the most. You."
"Me?" she squeaks. "He didn't even know me."
A puff of air leaves my chest, mixing with a sound of pure agony that makes her jolt slightly in her seat, her fingers wrapping tight around the armrest, bracing herself, I'm sure.
"He knew about you because my mother knew about you. Paw couldn't stop talkin' about the beautiful Davis girl that stole his grandson's heart. I had no clue that they had been waitin' for me to come home to dish their bullshit out--even if I hadn't walked right in demandin' to transfer schools."
"I don't understand," she whispers. "You never mentioned that before you left here."