by Jill Shalvis
Sure, he’s a damn tree hugger, and he’d save a rattlesnake if it crossed his path, but hey, snakes are people, too.”
Emily choked out a laugh. “Face it, he could have provided better if he wanted to, Sara. He chose to spend most of his time at the shelters.”
“Yeah, well, he does have a real savior complex.” Sara slid her a look. “Like someone else I know.”
“Not me,” Emily said just as Q-Tip leapt into her lap for a rare nuzzle.
Sara laughed. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”
“Not true,” Emily argued. “Dad would save a damn ant crossing his path on the sidewalk.”
“Hello,” Sara said. “Have you met you? You had an ant collection when you were young and named each and every one of them. And Sassy. Remember Sassy? She was the bird you found on our back porch, the one who’d fallen out of a tree. You fed it baby food and made her a new nest on the ground until she could fly again. And how about Stinky, the baby skunk you rescued? You laid down the law, threatened to sleep outside in the grass alongside of him if Dad didn’t let you keep him.”
Emily stared at her. “That was different.”
“How?”
She squirmed a little. “Well, for one thing, I was a kid. I never did anything to the detriment of my family.”
“If that’s how you’re remembering things,” Sara said, “I don’t think we grew up in the same house.”
Emily blew out a breath.
“We always had a roof over our head. And food.”
Barely . . . But she knew Sara couldn’t ever really understand because she’d already been at college when the MS kicked in, leaving their mom unable to care for herself. Most people took for granted being able to do for themselves, but that had been cruelly wrestled away from the woman who’d always prided herself on her independence. The simple act of getting bathed, dressed, doing her hair, feeding her, everything, had fallen to others.
Emily’s dad had been drowning in his own grief knowing he was going to lose his wife, and as he had all his life when things got tough, he’d worked. Twenty-four seven. Whatever it took to keep him from having to face the truth. “You weren’t there when it got bad, you were in Chicago getting your PhD in philosophy,” Emily said.
“I know.” Sara sighed. “I’d call and Mom just kept saying she was fine, that I didn’t have to come home.”
“She didn’t want anyone to see her, or how bad it’d gotten.”
Sara reached out for Emily’s hand. “You were both good at convincing me all was well.”
Emily blew out a breath. “We were fine.” Until they weren’t.
“It’s funny, because I hate philosophy now,” Sara said quietly. “I’ve got this piece of paper, a very lovely gold-lined, framed piece of paper that says people should call me Dr. Stevens.” She snorted. “Really comes in handy on the job site.”
Sara squeezed her fingers, her expression unusually solemn. “You did great with her, Em. I know it was a lot, but you did it, you took care of her when neither me nor Dad could. But ever since then, you’ve had this plan, and you’re so . . . clenched. And I get it, I’m betting that for you, knowing what’s coming every day is a comfort.” She smiled. “Maybe you should put ‘hot sex with Dr. Sexy’ on your plan.”
Emily choked out a laugh. “Not going to happen. I know you don’t get it but I don’t want to end up like Dad. I don’t want to have half my patients be pro bono. I want to pay off debts and actually earn a living. I want to keep my eyes on the prize. And L.A.’s the prize. Plus, Dad needs someone to take care of him.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. And you’re not exactly earning a ton of money with those fancy degrees,” Emily said. “The starting salary of that L.A. job is double what the Belle Haven position pays. I’m going to be able to take care of us.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Sara said.
“Yeah?” Emily asked. “How?”
Sara’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond. Couldn’t, Emily knew. Emily paid the rent on this place. “It’s the way it is,” she said. “And if saying so out loud makes me shallow and cruel, well, then, that’s what I am.”
“You’re not shallow or cruel,” Sara said. “If you were shallow, you’d get a haircut that cost more than twenty bucks and you’d wear more than just a swipe of mascara and the occasional lip gloss. You’d tell me I was an idiot for dumping Rayna.”
“You’re an idiot for dumping Rayna.”
Sara let out a mirthless laugh. “You’re wrong, you know. Your family, what you have left of it anyway, me and Dad, we’re fine. We’re all fine.”
“Yeah,” Emily said. “Until someone gets MS.”
They both stared at the ceiling like it was their job.
“I don’t want to fight about this,” Emily finally said.
“Good. Let’s go back to you and Dr. Sexy instead. You know he’s not my type, but if he was a chick I’d totally be into him. You need to go for it.”
“I can’t go for it,” Emily said.
“Why?”
“I just can’t. Drop it.”
“Not until you tell me why.”
“Because . . .” Emily hugged herself. “Because I’m not sure I can keep it casual.”
Sara’s eyes sharpened. “You falling for him?”
“No.” God. She winced. Yes. “Maybe.”
Sara stared at her as if she’d just broken out into a song and tap dance.
“I can’t help it!” Emily said. “He offered to squish spiders for me!”
“Huh?”
“Never mind! Never mind all of it, it’s stupid. I’ve lost my mind.”
“Honey.” Sara shook her head. “I didn’t know this. If I’d have known this, I wouldn’t have teased you about him. You’re supposed to just sleep with him, not fall for him.”
“Did you hear the stupid part?” Emily asked. “I know I can’t fall for him—” She broke off and stared at Sara. “Wait. I know why I can’t fall for him, why do you think I can’t fall for him?”
“First rule of one-night stands,” Sara said. “No falling. It negates the whole one-night stand thing. And . . .” She winced. “Okay, listen, don’t hate me. But I’m here to tell you that a five can’t fall for a ten. It won’t work out.”
Emily just stared at her. “Was that English?”
“I’m a five and Rayna is a ten. It didn’t work out.”
“Because you bailed,” Emily said. She blinked. “Wait a minute. You think I’m a five and Wyatt’s a ten?”
“Honey—”
“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, staring at the guilt flashing on Sara’s face. “You do. You think I’m a five and Wyatt’s a ten.” She shook her head. “Ouch.”
“I think five’s are real,” Sara said. “Five’s are the best kind of people, and that’s what we are. Trust me, Emily, you don’t want to fall for anyone over a five. They’ve been pretty all their lives. They’ve never had to struggle. They’ve never had to fight for a single thing or person, nothing. They’ve never been disappointed, or hurt. I’m just looking out for you, sister to sister.” Sara scooted in and hugged her. “Let’s find you a new one-night stand, okay? He can be a five. That way if it turns into more, you’re ready.”
“You’re a nut,” Emily said. “A certifiable nut.”
“Yes, and luckily, it runs in the family.”
Fifteen
One week later, Wyatt walked by the staff kitchen and caught sight of Emily sitting at the common table in front of her opened laptop, on the phone.
“Uh-huh,” she said into the receiver. “Yeah . . .” She was still leaning into her laptop, clearly avidly reading whatever was on the screen.
Wyatt stepped into the room as she spoke again. “I’m on a lunch break,” she said. “And absolutely not obsessively checking the auction bidding.”
Except she totally was. Wyatt could see it. He scanned the list over her shoulder and grinned wide when he r
ealized she had her mouse hovered over . . .
Him.
“I’ve been outbid by no less than five other people,” she said. “Yeah, and now he’s up to . . . five hundred dollars—” She broke off to listen to whoever was speaking on the other end of the line—he was betting Sara.
“Damn that Cassandra. No, I’m not going to bid five hundred bucks,” she said. “Are you kidding me? With that much money, I could fly us home to visit Dad for the weekend. I could get that new transmission for my car. I could take us to a spa day and get the works— Yes, I realize we’ve never been to a spa, Sara, the point is that we could go to one if we wanted— I’m not being ridiculous!” She sighed. “Look, I’ve gotta go.”
Wyatt watched as she ended the call without taking her gaze off the screen. He was still watching when she blew out a breath and hovered her mouse over the bidding block.
And then clicked.
“Dammit,” she muttered to herself, typing in a new bid. “You have no will power.”
“Sounds promising,” he said.
She jumped about five feet in the air at the sound of his voice and whipped around. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I think the question is what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Her gaze skittered away. “Just . . . making a shopping list. You know, cat food, cookies, Mace for people who read over my shoulder . . .” She hit a key on the keyboard, clearly intending to put the screen to sleep.
Instead, it brightened again, revealing the auction site.
Wyatt smiled and leaned over her shoulder. “I thought you said you let the bid go.”
“I . . . meant to.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s see how much I’m worth to you . . .” He felt his brows raise. “Five hundred and one dollars?”
“That’s a typo,” she said, and hit another button. This time the screen went black. “And it’s for charity.”
“So I’m a . . . pity bid?” he asked.
“Yes.” She sucked in a breath. “Exactly.”
He burst out laughing, and she frowned. “It’s true,” she said. “Brady and Dell and Adam are all getting up there in the bidding. I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
He was still grinning. “Look at you, digging yourself deeper.”
She flushed, but lifted her chin. Heaven forbid she cave on anything. “Hey,” she said. “I’ll have you know that your Casserole Brigade has divided into factions. Some of them are now pooling their funds to take the bid on you up to one thousand bucks so that Cassandra can’t get you. I’m just helping them get there, is all.”
He bent low so that his jaw pressed against the side of hers as together they looked at the screen. “Such a pretty liar,” he chided, and turned his head, letting his lips graze the sweet spot just beneath her ear.
She sucked in a breath and shuddered, and when he touched the spot with his tongue, a soft moan escaped her.
“So it has nothing to do with missing me in your bed?” he asked in her ear.
“N-no, of course not. I don’t miss you in my bed.”
“How about my truck? You miss me in the driver’s seat of my truck?” he asked, sucking her skin into his mouth. Christ, he wanted to eat her up.
She moaned again, and he set his hands on the arm of her chair to spin her around to face him. He was just able to haul her out of the chair and show her exactly what she was missing when they heard footsteps coming down the hall.
Emily shoved free of him and was doing her best to look casual as Dell strode in. He snatched a bottle of water from the refrigerator and smiled at her.
She smiled back.
“You got some sun out there today taking care of those geese that were brought in,” he said. “You’re all flushed. Wear sunscreen tomorrow.”
Emily’s gaze slid to Wyatt’s. “Will do.”
“Did I tell you?” Dell asked her. “The head vet from the Beverly Hills center called me. Their intern isn’t enamored with L.A. Her family lives in Coeur d’Alene, and she misses them.”
Emily blinked. “No,” she said a little faintly. “You didn’t mention that.”
Her smile had slipped so briefly, Wyatt would have said he’d imagined it if he didn’t know her.
“I told him we were damned lucky to have you,” Dell said. “Since you’re so happy here.”
Yeah, her smile was definitely a little short of her usual wattage, but Dell was oblivious as he turned to go. As he did, he slid Wyatt a brief glance.
Not oblivious at all, Wyatt realized. Just respecting her privacy.
When they were alone, Emily also turned to leave.
Wyatt caught her hand and pulled her back around, giving her a long, searching look.
“What?” she said.
“You tell me.”
She pulled free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So I just imagined that quick flash of horror as you realized you could have switched places with that other intern and gone back to L.A. early?”
Again she tried to go.
And again he held her to him. “How many days left?”
“Three hundred and thirty-six,” she said without hesitation.
Shit. He took a deep breath. “You’re still not happy here,” he stated flatly.
She closed her eyes.
He didn’t know what he expected. That she’d have miraculously given up on her plan just because they’d slept together a few times?
But that wasn’t what pissed him off. It was that he’d been hoping for more.
And she’d been hoping to be sent home.
“You should have told him,” Wyatt said.
“He’d just said how much he valued me as a vet,” Emily said. “Do you know what he’s given me? Everything. I’m not going to tell him I’d rather be in L.A.”
Wyatt drew a careful breath, trying to leave his personal feelings out of the mix. He was good at that. Hell, he fucking rocked at that. “He would’ve understood.”
She turned back to him, with heartbreaking sincerity. “You think so?”
Christ. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”
And then, because what he really wanted to do was push her up against the wall and kiss the living shit out of her, until she was panting his name and tearing at his clothes to get him inside her, he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them off her.
He walked out.
* * *
Lilah came by after work and dragged Emily off for “some fun.” Turned out Lilah’s husband, Brady, was on a team with—among others—Dell, Adam, Adam’s BFF Griffin, AJ, and a player who ran onto the field at the very last minute.
Wyatt.
The guys were all in athletic shorts, T-shirts, and cleats, and since it had rained until about five minutes ago, they were also drenched. And muddy.
Nobody wore drenched and muddy better than Wyatt, a fact Emily did her best to take in while pretending not to . . .
Sitting in the stands around her were other wives and girlfriends. She also figured out, when one pretty twentysomething struggled to the stands using a walker and stopped to yell at Wyatt