by Fiona Lowe
She drove slowly alongside him. “I’m on my way to buy breakfast and then I was going to drive you to the hospital.” She sounded cross that he hadn’t fallen in adroitly with her plans.
“I wasn’t hungry.” His stomach growled in mocking protest and the drugs he’d taken were making him feel nauseous.
“Get in the car.”
“Given what happened last night, I think it’s safer if I walk.”
Guilt streaked across her face. “Please get in the car before you freeze.”
He’d stuck his good arm into his jacket and pulled the right side over his shoulder but he couldn’t do it up so the cold was eating easily through his thin T-shirt. Still, was being warm really worth getting into the car with her? He glanced down the road, willing some traffic to appear but it was empty in both directions.
You didn’t ask her. She offered.
He knew it was semantics but with an hour’s walk ahead of him, he’d take it. He slid into the seat and for the first time noticed what she was wearing. Again, it screamed corporate office wear but this time it wasn’t crushed and soiled. From what he’d seen of Whitetail, and when he added in the fact she was visiting her family’s vacation house, her clothes seemed very out of place. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code for the E.R.”
A flicker of what may have been awkwardness crossed her rosy cheeks, although knowing Amy, it was probably disapproval. She flicked a look at his unkempt appearance and quickly looked away. “One of us has to look presentable.”
Granted, he looked a wreck but she was partly to blame for his lack of a shower and a shave, and he was on vacation so he had no need of a suit. Come to think of it, he rarely had need of a suit. His work clothes back in Australia had only involved a jacket and tie when he was visiting the head office, but he’d been raised right and he knew all about dressing in appropriate clothing to fit the occasion.
Perhaps it was Amy’s scratchy and uptight demeanor but he had the overwhelming need to press her buttons. “Most women—” he ignored the thought of Lexie, “—are more interested in getting my clothes off me than admiring them on me.” He grinned at her. “You’d know all about that.”
Her sharp intake of breath sounded loud in the confines of the car and her knuckles whitened on the wheel. Predictably, she pursed her lovely lips. “I should have let you sweat under the quilt in those damn leather pants.”
He laughed and settled back into his seat, happy to let the rest of the trip pass in relative silence listening to the local radio. Apparently it was time to harvest soybeans.
Amy delivered him to the outside of the E.R. The moment he got out of her car, she drove off without a backward glance, which suited him perfectly. He was therefore completely surprised, some thirty minutes later, when he came back from being x-rayed to find her in the waiting area with coffee and doughnuts.
“Breakfast,” she said without preamble as she placed coffee on the table in front of him with some sugar packets and a stirring stick on the cup’s lid. “Any news?”
“They’re studying the film now.” He usually ate muesli and fruit for breakfast and avoided all the sweet, sugary offerings, but with hunger eating through his stomach lining, he bit greedily into an iced doughnut. The sugar rush hit him with addictive vigor.
She sipped her coffee but her gaze kept flicking between the door and his chest. Finally she said, “What’s a drop bear?”
He stifled the desire to smile. He’d won the T-shirt as part of an advertising promotion for Australia’s most popular rum and every time he wore it someone asked him the same question. “They’re related to the koala.”
Her face lit up and her dimples danced. “Koala bears always look so cute in photos. Why do you have to beware of drop bears?”
He kept his voice serious. “Because they’re Australia’s most dangerous and vicious marsupial.”
As her eyes became gray pools of surprise, he warmed to his tall tale, loving how whenever he spun this yarn to the Americans he met, they always believed him. “They kill their prey by dropping out of trees and landing on them before mauling them to death.”
She shuddered. “Can they kill humans?”
“There’s never been a human death reported. Not yet anyway, but they give a really nasty bite. I reckon if your immune system was weak, the venom could take you out. Bush walkers have to be really careful.”
Her cheeks pinked up with horror. “I had no idea.”
“And that’s the problem,” he nodded gravely, trying not to laugh. “Australia’s a dangerous place and tourists die every single year.”
He felt a smile trying to break across his face and he dropped his head to hide it. Reaching toward the table, he concentrated on trying to pop the lid off the coffee with one hand so he could add the sugar.
“Mr. Armytage, good news,” the doctor said, reappearing and holding up the X-ray. “No broken bones so you’re good to go. Be sure to do those exercises we discussed to strengthen the surrounding muscles.”
“Will do,” Ben said. “How long until I can ride my bike?”
The doctor signed his chart. “I’d give it four weeks.”
“Four weeks?” He heard his voice sounding overly loud in the quiet waiting area but he couldn’t believe he was going to be stuck in this town for twenty-eight days. “Surely it won’t be that long?”
The doctor looked skeptical. “You must avoid anything strenuous that risks popping your shoulder out again.” Without skipping a beat, he turned to Amy. “He’s going to be sore for a few days so no matter what he says, he must wear the sling. Don’t let him do anything arduous with that arm.”
“I doubt he’ll listen to me,” Amy said, sounding like the injured party. “He isn’t very good at doing what he’s told. I wanted him to come to the hospital last night.”
“No need to be a hero, Ben,” the doctor said kindly. “Now’s the time to sit back and let this lovely young woman pamper you.”
Amy made a choking sound.
“I don’t need pampering,” Ben spluttered, horrified at the thought. He jerked at the recalcitrant coffee lid. Brown liquid spilled, burning the back of his hand and streaming across the table. “Damn it.”
The doctor raised one brow. “Ben, you can’t even get the lid off of your coffee so how are you planning on showering, dressing and cooking?”
“I’ll...” But he came up blank. He couldn’t sleep in the tent because he couldn’t pitch it and he couldn’t even lie down flat yet without it hurting like hell. He couldn’t ride his bike or drive a car and he’d be hard-pressed to open a can of beans. Jeez, he’d even avoided a shower this morning because he didn’t want to ask Amy for help to take his clothes off. God, he really didn’t have a choice.
“Thought so,” the doctor said, giving Ben a man-to-man wink. “I say enjoy being taken care of while you can.”
“We’re not really together,” Amy heard herself squeak, forcing the words out against a tight throat. Every part of her was aghast at where this was conversation was irrevocably heading. “And I’m on vacation so...”
Her voice trailed off as the doctor glared at her, making her feel like a disobedient child. His expression reminded her of her father’s reaction when she’d done something he disapproved of or when she hadn’t done something he believed she should have.
“You were enjoying being together last night when he slammed into the doorjamb, weren’t you?” he asked, folding his arms across his white coat.
Doorjamb? She blinked. Why hadn’t Ben told him that she’d been the one to hit him with a flashlight? She caught Ben’s eye and he tilted his head as if to say, just agree. “Ah, I guess.”
“No need to be embarrassed,” the doctor said. “These things happen but as I told Ben, his arm’s not going to be strong enough for sex up against a wall for quite
some time.”
She stared slack-jawed at the doctor, but he kept right on talking.
“Casual sex is all very well but we have to take responsibility for our actions. You were both involved in this accident and this isn’t Chicago or New York,” he said, giving her business suit a scorching look. “We’re not self-centered out here in the country and we look after each other. You’re on vacation so you have the time to take care of Ben and he’s a foreigner who needs your help. Think of it as your contribution to international community service.”
Up against all of that, she had nothing. As much as she hated it, she’d just got served.
* * *
Somehow, Amy managed to hold on to her temper until she and Ben were out on the street and then a mixture of incredulousness and anger burst out of her. “You told the doctor we had sex?”
Ben’s good shoulder rose and fell. “He asked me how I injured my shoulder. Did you really want me to tell him I was attacked by you? That would have meant he’d have called the police and they’d start asking a lot of awkward questions. Besides, I thought lawyers avoided scandal like cats avoid swimming.”
Scandal. She thought about what Jonathon had said to her yesterday before he’d fired her and she shivered. “Yes, but—”
“You’re welcome.” The facets of green in his eyes sparkled. “Personally, I thought it was a pretty inventive story.”
A picture formed in her head—one of her having her legs wrapped around his waist and being held up against a wall by his strong and work-toned arms. Her knees wobbled.
She locked them hard. “Of course you thought it was a good idea. It sounded so much more macho than ‘a girl hit me.’”
His leather jacket squared up on his left side and his T-shirt stretched even more tightly across his chest. He looked one hundred percent raw male and as grumpy as hell. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll go back and ask them to amend the records.”
No. She couldn’t risk any hint of impropriety outside of her career given what had just happened inside it. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate that you didn’t tell them what really happened even if it means I can never go to the Whitetail E.R.”
“Why not?”
“I’d die of embarrassment. I’ll be known as the overweight woman who broke your shoulder.”
He frowned. “You’re not overweight.”
Yeah, right. You’ve seen me naked and you said I’m not your type.
“Did it ever occur to you, Amy, that perhaps the staff were impressed by what we did?”
“We didn’t do anything!” Her hands shot out in front of her as every lawyerly instinct craved the facts. God, they were talking about fictitious sex, the sort of in-the-moment sex she’d never experienced once in her life, and yet she had crazy sensations dancing between her thighs.
He shot her a withering look. “Next time you do something stupid and I have to make up a story to save your butt, I’ll be certain it involves you being uptight and puritanical. Hell, I won’t even have to lie.”
I’m not uptight, she wanted yell. She wanted to be anywhere but here arguing with the most frustrating guy she’d ever met. The only companionable conversation they’d had was when he was talking about drop bears. She made a mental note to talk to him about Australia as much as possible.
“Look,” she said, appealing for a truce. “I think we’re both agreed that we don’t have to like each other, but we do have to get by until you’re able to ride that god-awful noisy motorcycle out of here. Then we never have to see each other again.”
“You won’t get an argument from me on that.”
“Well, that would be a first.”
He smiled and just as she’d predicted last night, deep creases scored his thickening stubble and then raced to his eyes. Even unshaven and unwashed, he radiated a charisma that made her feel out of control and equally inexperienced. She hated that. She’d spent years fighting these sort feelings and she refused to allow him or anyone else to make her feel this way. Her life was ordered, planned and goal-oriented.
Right now your entire life is way out of control and all your plans are shredded.
No. It. Is. Not. Taking charge, she pulled a pen and notebook from her purse. “I think we need to set some ground rules.”
He crooked one brow and shot her the same I don’t think so look he gave her every time she suggested he do something.
She pushed on. “I was thinking of drawing up a schedule along the lines of who does what. Obviously you’re going to get out of dish detail and wood chopping.”
His lazy gaze rolled over her. “I figured you do everything and I’d watch.”
Again the same prickle of awareness tingled at the base of her spine, stealing her concentration. No man had ever done that to her, not even Jonathon. Especially not Jonathon.
Stay focused. “We need to go grocery shopping so we’ll do that now before driving back to the house.”
He looked at her as if she’d suggested they eat slime. “You do the grocery shopping. I’m going to see Red.”
“Who’s Red?”
“My bike.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “But your motorcycle’s back at the house.”
“That one was loaned to me. Red’s at the mechanic’s waiting for repairs. Pick me up there when you’re ready.”
Before she could object or offer up a different arrangement that didn’t mean she was his domestic slave and at his beck and call, he’d commenced walking up the street. The straightness of his spine making it absolutely clear there was no invitation for her to join him.
Shoving her pen and notebook back into her purse, she decided that the groceries could wait. If Ben could just take off and do what he wanted, so could she. Right now she had a hankering to reacquaint herself with Whitetail.
It was a short walk from the hospital to Main Street. Baskets of brightly colored flowers hung from the old-fashioned lampposts and flags printed with the photo of a young couple gazing at each other fluttered in the light breeze. As she’d seen the banner welcoming the Uebelacker wedding, she figured the photo on the flags belonged to the bride and groom. The town looked fresher than she remembered, with stores having bright, new canvas awnings over their doors and most had a personalized greeting for the happy couple in their windows.
The town was busy but unlike when she’d last been here and the sidewalk had been filled with vacationers in flip-flops, today there was a hustle and bustle of women dressed in pretty frocks and men in suits. She overheard someone asking, “What time do we have to be at the church?”
Amy wondered at the choice of a morning wedding. Up until just recently, she’d always thought a late-afternoon wedding followed by an evening reception would be what she’d choose should she ever marry. Her plan, which she’d devised on that long ago vacation in Whitetail, had always been not to marry before thirty. She’d achieved that far more easily than her teenage self might have imagined.
She passed Whitetail’s Market and Video, and Whitetail’s Bait, Tackle and Beer, laughing at the combinations that made up each business. Even the funeral home had a sign that read, Keys Cut Here. She paused outside the Northern Lights Boutique, her gaze instantly caught by the gorgeous winter coat on display. She needed a new coat and this one—vivid watermelon with large funky buttons and a crossover collar—might just be it. It looked like wool and her fingers itched to touch the fabric and savor the feel.
A skitter of excitement spun through her. In her frugal teen and student days, she’d made a lot of her own clothes and had always loved choosing the fabric and the exhilaration of making the first cut. It had been years since she’d done any sewing, having stopped the moment she’d got her first job as a lawyer and an accompanying income.
You’re out of a job now. You shouldn’t be spending money.
But after the soul-destroying events of yesterday, she needed to treat herself and she rationalized that she had severance pay so she was hardly destitute. Not yet, anyway. Pulling open the door, she stepped inside and heard a gut-wrenching wail.
“This is supposed to be my special day and just look at me.” A woman in a bridal gown sobbed as she pulled at the sagging bodice. “I’m going to kill Chad.”
A woman, who Amy assumed was the bride’s mother, held another gown in her hands, ineffectually dabbing at what looked like a black ink stain. “It was an accident, darling.”
“I know it was,” the bride said resignedly, “but why did it have to happen today?”
Another woman, who looked to be in her thirties, appeared from the back of the store holding two transparent dress bags across her arms. “I’ve got two more dresses you can try on, Brianna, only they’re the same size as the one you’re wearing.”
“But that’s no help,” the bride moaned. “They’ll be too big as well.”
Amy had just reached the coat rack as the worried-looking sales associate said to her, “Are you okay to browse? It’s just we have a crisis here and I won’t be able to assist you for a while.”
“That’s okay. I’m not in a hurry,” Amy said, realizing with a jolt she’d not uttered those words in years. She’d been in a hurry since she was fourteen.
You still need to be in a hurry. You have to sort out your job. Your life.
And she would. Just not today.
As she rifled through the racks in the small store, she couldn’t help but overhear the drama-filled conversation about the bridal gown.
“Surely there’s a dressmaker in town who could help us, Melissa?” the mother of the bride asked the sales associate.
Melissa wrung her hands. “Annette’s out of town at the moment visiting her daughter in Oshkosh.”
“Oh, God.” The bride’s breathing suddenly got faster and shallower, the little gasps audible in the small space. “This is so unfair. I had the perfect dress and now...” Tears poured down her face. “Look at me. I look like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s gown.” Her voice rose to a quivering howl. “I have to be at the church in an hour.”