by Sandra Hill
Samantha couldn’t stop tsk-ing. “Are you sure that huge fridge is going to fit into the kitchen?”
“I’ll make it fit.”
She rolled her eyes again. “If you would’ve stopped flirting with that sales clerk, Deb-bie, I could have shown you a refrigerator model more fitting for your mansion. She was so short, she almost seemed like a teenager. She even giggled like one. Especially when you told that dumb story about Eskimo iceboxes. Your very own Little Debbie!”
He grinned. “Hah! You were the one attracting attention in that hoochie-mama outfit. I swear, half the male clerks in the store were watching your behind in those shorts, and the other half was aching to untie the bow in front of your top.”
She put a hand to said bow, and blushed.
It was a kick that he could make her blush.
“You don’t like this outfit.”
“I love your outfit.”
More blushing.
“Here’s a deal for you. I’ll let you take over renovation of my mansion . . .”
“You’ll let me?”
“. . . in return for all the favors I’m doing for you. Admit it, you know you’d sell your soul to get involved in renovating the old place. Go for it! Give Rose a historical facelift.”
“Rose is it now? A female?”
“Aren’t all these Southern mansions supposed to be grand old ladies?”
“Hmpfh!” she said, which was as good as saying, “I wouldn’t sell my soul, but maybe a few family heirlooms, to be involved, dammit.”
He’d been continuing to drive down the road when he suddenly put on the turn signal. “Oh, look. There’s one of your stores.” It was a Starr Foods Superstore. “And it’s only noon. We can get the groceries here.”
“Okay, but not too much cold stuff until the new fridge is delivered and has time to cool down.”
“Do I get a Starr discount?”
“No.”
“Aaah,” he moaned in exaggeration. “I’d give you a discount if I owned a gazillion supermarkets.”
“There aren’t a gazillion Starr stores. Only a hundred and thirteen.”
“Only a hundred and thirteen?”
“That’s small . . . well, average . . . for a grocery chain. And I don’t own the stores. I’m just a shareholder.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, disbelieving.
Actually, all this banter and inconsequential conversation was a concerted effort on Daniel’s part to avoid the sudden, overpowering attraction that had exploded between them this morning. Well, not so sudden on his part. If he were truthful, he would have to admit that Samantha’s appeal to him had been growing for some time now, even when she’d clearly been repulsed by him, mainly because he was a doctor, partly because of his taunting her about every little thing, a habit which gave him an inordinate, immature pleasure.
She clearly wasn’t repulsed anymore. And, ironically, that was partly due to her seeing him as a doctor, the very thing that had put her off to begin with. Go figure. He’d be a fool not to notice that her attitude toward him had changed. Had it begun to change this morning when she’d seen him outside with her animals? Or maybe even last night when he’d offered to bring her and her motley crew back to the plantation? Or when she’d succumbed to their killer kiss. Or even later when she’d announced that she had been celibate for more than a year?
If he hadn’t been convinced before that she was melting for him (Man, I like the sound of that!), he was for sure when he’d spotted her standing in the doorway of the children’s playroom at the cancer medical center. The look in her eyes had been one of pure, unadulterated bone-melting, heart-melting, whatever-melting. Which wasn’t a surprise to him. Women throughout the world considered doctors to be prime dating/marriage material. Little did they know or care about the high divorce rate for physicians. Not Samantha, though. Until today, he would have bet his balls that she would eat worms before she would willingly lay with another doctor. But now? Whoo-boy!
And, yes, he meant lay as in laid, or get naked, and do the deed.
So, now, the two of them were making a concerted effort to avoid the big frickin’ elephant that sat between them, at the moment its big rump resting on the console, its trunk swinging back and forth like a pendulum. In his case, the pendulum seemed to be an argument of good sense against good sex.
Will we?
Won’t we?
Make a move.
Run for the hills . . . or the bayou.
Maybe she’d like to have an affair.
I’d like to be a fly on the wall when that suggestion is made.
I’m going testosterone crazy.
It’s lust. Pure unadulterated lust.
Let’s give three cheers for pure unadulterated lust.
The pendulum probably had a different message for Samantha:
He’s helping me with Angus and Lily Beth. Maybe he’s not so bad.
But he’s a doctor.
Doctor, doctor, give me the news . . .
Sometimes sex is the best prescription for what ails you.
I must be going hormone crazy.
But, really, a doctor who can hunker down with a little girl and make her stop crying? Doctor Dan?
On the other hand, he was such a hermit, hiding in the bayou for two years, avoiding work. Lazy, selfish, just like all doctors, thinking of his own interests. The fact that he’d come out of hiding is probably just a ruse.
But he’s so sexy he makes my bones melt.
That last was pure fantasy on Daniel’s part, or perhaps wishful thinking. But he’d seen the way she looked at him. He was no fool. They were going to have sex. And soon.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked, breaking into his reverie.
They were in the middle of the produce department of the supermarket, he driving the shopping cart, she with a bunch of bananas in her hands. Not to be daunted, he was about to tell her, explicitly, when his cell phone rang. Taking it out of his pocket, he checked the caller ID.
“It’s George Laroche. I better take this,” he told Samantha. “They must have the test results already.”
She nodded and continued to gather various produce items and place them in the cart. Two bunches of seedless grapes, green and red. Peaches. Cherries. Apples. Lemons and limes. Then, she added onions, celery, and bell pepper, muttering something about the Holy Trinity of Southern cooking. She added mushrooms, garlic, and a few ripe tomatoes. Was she planning on cooking in that pathetic excuse for a kitchen at Bayou Rose?
Hey, who was he to argue? As long as it didn’t involve okra, he was game to try anything, even her cooking.
“All the tests have come back negative,” George told him.
“That’s good news,” Daniel remarked.
Samantha stopped and looked at him.
He gave a thumbs-up and listened.
“No preeclampsia and only mild anaemia. Get her some iron pills,” George said.
Daniel put his hand over the phone and asked Samantha, “Do they have a pharmacy section in this store where we can get some iron pills?”
She nodded.
Back to George, who continued, “The elevated blood pressure is still a concern, as you know. Make an appointment for her with an obstetrician asap. In the meantime, keep her off her feet as much as possible.”
“Will do. Thanks so much, George. This was above and beyond.”
“Totally self-serving, my boy. You know I want you to join our group. Anything to push you in that direction.”
“I’m thinking about it, George. I’ll give you an answer soon. How was Molly after I left?” Molly was the little girl he’d helped at the medical center.
“Devastated. Turns out her father couldn’t come after all. No place to stay. Yes, yes, I know, you offered to pay for a motel room for him, but it’s unfair to ask any one person to make that kind of donation, especially when there are so many other needy cases.” He sighed deeply.
Molly’s family situation was different
than others served by programs like Ronald McDonald Houses, which were intended as temporary relief only. Her father had no long-term job and no permanent address, due to constant absences following hospitalization and travel for his youngest child. He and the other three siblings were spread among various family members. The mother had skipped town after Molly’s initial diagnosis. Some parents just weren’t able to handle sick children.
It was nothing new. And more of the kind of heartache Daniel had chosen to escape when he’d left medicine. Still, he said, “I wish I could do more.”
“I know. We all do. Anyhow, take care and keep in touch.”
“Likewise.”
Daniel clicked off and turned back to Samantha.
“Good news about Lily Beth?” she asked.
“So far.” He pushed the cart out of the produce section and asked, “Where next?”
“Butcher shop.” Where she picked up some boneless chicken breasts and andouille sausage.
“Planning on doing some cooking?”
“Just a big pot of gumbo. That, with some rice and good bread should feed our small crowd, and the leftovers, if there are any, won’t take up much room in the old fridge.”
“So, you’re a cook, as well as accountant, fund-raiser, and animal rescuer?”
“I don’t do all that much cooking, but every Southern girl knows how to make her grandmother’s gumbo.”
“And Southern boys?”
“Their job is . . . always has been . . . to provide the meat or fish for the pot. The providers.”
“Even if it was just possum from the bayou.”
She nodded. “Or crawfish. We do love our crawfish.”
“I got pretty good at catching crawfish while I lived in that bayou fishing camp.”
She hitched a hip and tilted her head at him. “Is that an offer to become my . . . provider?”
He laughed. “Hardly. A few crawfish does not a provider make.”
“Holy jambalaya!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I just noticed. You have a dimple. Where have you been hiding that?”
Daniel pressed his lips together, trying to retract the dimple, to no avail. But then, when he noticed the way she licked her lips when she stared at said dimple, he let it go. He was no fool. If dimples were one more step in her lust parade, he would be the drum major. “I have only one,” he told her, as if that were important. “On my right side only. Aaron has one on his left side. Twins and all that.”
She grinned and reached up a fingertip to touch his dimple.
Which felt a whole lot like she was touching him somewhere else.
Before he said or did something even more stupid than he already had, Daniel decided to move on and get them out of this supermarket and back to the plantation and sanity. Or something even better.
To Daniel’s surprise, there was an aisle devoted to small household appliances. “In a supermarket?”
“It’s not your mama’s old-time grocery store,” Samantha remarked with a proud smile. She suggested he get another cart, and they loaded up with an electric can opener, a toaster, a small microwave, and a big Crock-Pot.
At the bakery, she picked out two long baguettes and a sliced sourdough bread loaf for sandwiches. She also insisted that she had to get a large fruit tart . . . one of Lily Beth’s favorites, apparently . . . that resembled a pizza covered with a cream cheese mixture, then strawberries, blueberries, pineapple, grapes, and kiwi. Forget Lily Beth; it looked good to him, too.
He grabbed a jar of tupelo honey and arched his eyebrows at her.
At the deli, she picked up some sliced lunch meat. Then, she moved on to get a small sack of flour, Cajun seasonings, a bag of rice, eggs, butter, milk, and orange juice. Also, mustard, mayonnaise, and Tabasco sauce, also known as Cajun lightning.
“Good Lord! I thought you said we should buy only a few things that would fit in that small fridge.”
She shrugged. “Most of these items need no refrigeration. Besides, your very accommodating sales clerk promised to have the fridge and mattress set delivered this afternoon. By tonight, we should hopefully have a fridge big enough to hold a side of beef. If it fits!”
“It’ll fit,” he assured her, having no idea if it would or not. More important, he liked the way she said “we.” And he liked the way she seemed to be jealous of the flirty sales clerk. And when he said, “It’ll fit,” he was thinking about something else entirely. That’s how pathetic he was becoming in his lust for her.
When they got to the checkout, she shoved him aside with a hip and handed the clerk a card with the Starr logo on it. Apparently, she got her groceries for free, not just a discount.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Consider it payback for all the favors you’ve been doing for me.”
“I prefer another method of payback,” he said before he could bite his fool tongue.
She stopped pushing her cart in the middle of the parking lot. He stopped his cart, too. “You keep making insinuations like that, Daniel. Why is that?”
“Not insinuations. Fact,” he told her. “I’ve just come to a decision . . . no, not a decision . . . a realization . . . of inevitability. You and I are going to have sex.”
To his surprise, instead of slapping his face, or making a snarky remark, she paused for a moment, thinking, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’re on, Doctor Dreamy.”
Oh. My. God! Hoisted on my own doctorly petard.
Chapter Seventeen
Moving along, or was it, moves abound? . . .
Once they were back at the plantation, Daniel kept touching her. Oh, not in any overt, noticeable way. Subtle. In passing.
And that blasted dimple, which had been invisible to her this morning, was now like a blinking neon light. Was he smiling more? Or was it just her overactive libido that was seeing things of a lustful nature in everything he did.
Not that dimples were lustful, exactly.
Who was she kidding? His single dimple had amped her horniness meter more than a few points. Forget shorts and a halter top. I should have worn armor.
And it wasn’t just the touching that disconcerted Samantha. The looks were just as bad. Smoldering. She’d only ever associated that word with romance novel heroes. Now she knew what it meant. Whew! Where is air-conditioning when it’s needed?
And “horniness meter”? Where had that crude word come from? Real classy, Samantha! If I’m not careful, I’ll be kicked out of the Sweet Southern Belle society, if there is such a society.
Before she did anything else, she checked on her animals while Daniel carried in the groceries. Even before she opened the sliding pocket door, she heard an angry bird, which just kept chirping nonstop, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”
“I’ll second that,” she replied, blowing the bird an air kiss.
The animals had already been fed and watered this morning, but they needed fresh water in this heat. The puppies were still in their crate, and two of the cats, Garfield and Felix, lay on their personal mats, content to stay put. All the other animals must be downstairs on the first level, or out back. Luckily, there was a small, as-yet-unrenovated half bath on this floor which had running water and little else.
With everything else on her agenda, she had to remember to deliver three of the puppies later this afternoon. She’d already notified her office that she wouldn’t be in today and cancelled her noontime meeting, but she should call for a report.
When she got downstairs, she found Daniel helping Angus to hose off the extra lawn furniture, old wrought iron pieces, he’d found in storage and arranged outside, under the tupelo tree, just in case they wanted to meet outside. Lily Beth was already reclining on the chaise, and the chairs were arranged around her. Samantha, Daniel, Angus, and Lily Beth would all participate in the meeting with Luc and John, who should be arriving shortly.
Daniel was updating Angus and Lily Beth on the medical test results as he hosed. Every couple seconds, he gave Emily a misty sh
ower, without pausing from his conversation. The pig gazed up at him with adoration.
That was another thing Samantha needed to put on her list: cancelling Em’s psych appointment.
Maddie was outside, too, reclining in the sun. She gave Daniel a look that pretty much said, Spray Me and You Are Dead Cat Meat. Axel was there, too. Knowing of the Shepherd’s bad hip, she figured Angus must have helped the dog down the steps. A plastic Tupperware bowl of water sat next to Axel’s muzzle. Bless the boy!
When Daniel passed Samantha in the kitchen on the way to grabbing some old towels to wipe off the furniture, he just happened to brush against her butt as she was bent over attempting to plug in the Crock-Pot to an ancient baseboard electrical outlet.
She shot up to glare at him.
He just grinned, a big ol’ dimpled grin, and murmured, “Excuse me.”
Samantha put away the groceries and started the gumbo in the Crock-Pot, while Daniel found a power strip and hooked up the small appliances, including the Crock-Pot.
When he reached forward, she thought he was grabbing for her breasts, but, instead, he tsk-tsked at her assumption, and adjusted the bow on her halter top. “You were a bit lopsided,” he explained.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you putting the moves on me?”
“Moi?” he said with mock innocence. But then he grimaced in a self-deprecating way. “Any moves I might have once had have surely rusted from disuse.”
“Maybe it’s like riding a bike. You never really forget.”
“You think?”