by Mindy Neff
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I was married.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m thinking your education is lacking.”
“Are you saying—”
He put a finger over her lips. “No, I’m not saying you didn’t do it right. Baby, if you did it any righter, we’d both be burned to a crisp.”
“Then what?”
“You deserve to do it more.”
“With you, I suppose?”
“I’m available.” He gave her a smile filled with sensuality. “You’ve missed out on a lot because of that smart brain, haven’t you.”
She opened her mouth to deny, then closed it. He was right, and they both knew it. Her intelligence had set her apart from others for most of her life. It hadn’t been until recently that she’d felt as though the rest of the world had caught up to her, that she hadn’t felt so different.
He brushed a fingertip against her jaw. “It’s going to be my pleasure teaching you to play. And for the record, we will repeat that kiss.”
Her jaw went slack, and for the life of her, she couldn’t find any words.
“Night, Hollywood.” He stepped around her, leaving her confused and yearning and belatedly piqued, with nothing more for company than a dark Christmas tree and a merrily crackling fire.
What in the world was wrong with her? Standing there like a dope while he told her what they were going to do, decided what she needed. All in a tone that was practically a sensual threat.
And when in the world had that type of behavior become acceptable, causing intense giddy excitement deep in her belly? She clutched the lapels of her robe, annoyed.
Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted him to be her tutor.
And damn it, she was going to get a grip and stop these nonsense thoughts right now. No good could come of them.
She didn’t have time to play. She was a grown woman with responsibilities.
Responsibilities that she was failing, she reminded herself, and that was breaking her heart.
Chapter Six
Kelly overslept the next morning, something she couldn’t remember ever doing before. The strain of hunting possums and raccoons must have done her in.
She dressed as fast as she could, hating to be bare naked for even the few seconds it took to take off her gown and pull on jeans, wool socks and two sweaters. Didn’t anybody around here believe in using their heaters? She was going to find that damned thermostat and set it at a decent temperature.
After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, she made her way to the kitchen, following the sound of Jessica’s high-pitched voice mingling with Chance’s deeper one.
Maria was bustling around the kitchen, wielding a spatula, which she used to both punctuate her words and scoop breakfast from the skillet on the built-in stove.
“Mommy!” Jessica shrieked. “Maria made snowman pancakes. Come see. You could have some, too. Kimmy wanted ears, but snowmen don’t have ears.”
Kelly moved forward, her gaze snagged by Chance’s slow sensual smile. The image of them practically wrestling on the couch flashed through her mind, and she was annoyed when she felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks.
Well, darn it, she didn’t know how to act on the “sort of” morning after. She had no yardstick of experience with which to measure.
Hoping to cover her reaction, she met his knowing smile head on, then dragged her gaze to her children, responding to Jessica’s volley of words.
“It’s okay if snowmen have ears,” she said to Jessica, though she didn’t imagine Kimmy had voiced such a request. But, oh, how she wished she had.
“Which is exactly what I thought,” Maria said, presenting a plate to Kimmy that held a pancake in the shape of a snowman with ears.
A smile peeked out of Kimmy’s closed lips. She folded her pudgy fist around the fork and dug in.
With a pleased expression on her face, Jessica watched her little sister like a mother who could barely contain her pride.
Kelly’s throat seized. To cover the reaction, she dropped a kiss on the head of each of her daughters and smiled her thanks to Maria, who merely waved the spatula as if to say it was no big deal.
“Sit, Dr. Kelly.” With amazing efficiency, Maria had a steaming mug of coffee in front of Kelly before she could even ask. “I’ll have you a plate in a jiffy.”
“I’m fine with just coffee.”
“Won’t do you any good to argue,” Chance commented. He, too, had been watching the unique byplay between the little girls. “Maria believes in feeding folks whether they want it or not. Might as well give in gracefully.”
Maria set a plate of pancakes and sausage in front of Kelly and pointed the spatula. “Eat. Breakfast is the most important meal. Doctors should know this and not have to have an old woman remind them.”
It smelled wonderful, and eating it gave Kelly something to do rather than worry about her daughters or squirm in her chair and flash back on carnal kisses and sensual threats.
“Mommy, did you hear that scary noise last night?”
Kelly’s gaze darted to Chance, then back to Jessica. “Um, what did it sound like, honey?”
“Like a big, big firecracker. You ’member when Joey DeLuca’s brother did the bad firecrackers at the street party and the policemen came and taked him to jail? That’s ’zactly what it sounded like.” She punctuated this with a definitive bob of her head.
“I’m sorry it woke you. Were you scared?”
“Yes.” She forked pancakes into her mouth, licked syrup from her lips. “But I forgot and fell asleep again.”
“That’s good.”
“So did you hear it, too?”
“Mmm-hmm. A raccoon was rooting around in the trash, that’s all.”
Jessica frowned and thought about that. “Does a raccoon sound like a firecracker?”
“Uh…no. That was probably me. With the shotgun.”
Jessica took a breath as though inhaling the whole world, her expression utterly scandalized. “Did you kill the poor thing?”
As drama queens went, Jessica was right up there with the best of them. And now Kimmy had stopped eating and was waiting for the answer, too, accusation creeping into her eyes.
“Of course I didn’t kill it. I didn’t even mean for the gun to go off.” She tried desperately to think of a way to put a more mature nonchalant spin on the tale. “Which is a very good reason why we should never, ever play with guns.” There. Give a lecture and throw them off the scent of the conversation.
Chance’s slow grin didn’t bode well for successfully dropping the subject.
“Actually, girls, it was a possum and a raccoon. Your mother was very brave to investigate marauding critters in the night. Fortunately she missed by a mile. Murdered my perfectly good trash can, though,” he added with a smile that rivaled the Devil’s.
“Thank you so much for your input, Chance.”
His grin grew even wider. “You’re quite welcome, Kelly.”
Jessica giggled and Kimberly smiled. Maria covered her mouth, no doubt hiding a smile, and glanced at the telephone as though she couldn’t wait to start punching in friends’ numbers.
Great, Kelly thought. Between the girls and Maria, the story would reach town before she’d even clocked in for work.
THE CLINIC WAS BUSIER than usual, and Kelly was actually falling behind. She was used to doing exams and medical histories—as the doctor—relying on the clerical staff to keep the paperwork straight. Now she was the clerical staff.
For the first time in the month she’d been here, the pile of charts and ringing phones were flustering her.
And damn it, every blessed soul who walked through those doors had heard about her run-in with the raccoon, possum and trash barrel.
As she ushered Mrs. Beecham into the examining room, the old woman patted her hand. “I imagine your wits are pretty shaken after last night, dear.”
Kelly forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mrs. Beecham.” For the fortieth time today. “
It was really a very small incident. Let’s get this shoe off so the doctor can take a look at your foot, shall we?”
“Yes, it’s been hurtin’ real bad.” She patted Kelly’s arm this time, not ready to give up the subject, even for pain. “It’s no wonder you got scared. A person can’t expect you to take to country life right off. You’ll get used to it, dear. You might want to have some lessons with the shotgun, though. Some of ’em give a mighty kick, but you’ll catch on quick enough.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beecham. I’ll be sure and do that.” She went through the standard procedures of checking vital signs and writing them on the chart for Chance, feeling thoroughly demoralized that a little old lady could obviously tote a shotgun and hit her target blindfolded—while Kelly was a danger to anyone in the area. Including the trash cans.
Despite her irritation with being at the juicy center of the grapevine, she noted that Mrs. Beecham’s blood pressure was higher than usual, and in listening to the heart sounds, she detected a slight murmur.
She jotted a note on the chart, stopping before she automatically added a recommendation for meds and a consult with a cardiologist. That wasn’t her job.
“The doctor will be right with you.”
“Thank you, dear. I hate to be a bother.”
“No bother, Mrs. Beecham,” Kelly said gently. It was a wonder the woman could still walk. Her toe was inflamed and raging with infection.
She glared at Chance when she met him in the hall. He wore tight blue jeans, boots and a white doctor’s coat with his name stitched over the breast pocket. It made her mood even darker that he looked so sexy.
He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell a soul. Honest.” He was entirely too smug and doing a bad job of hiding it. “Go holler at Maria. She’s the one who burned up the phone lines this morning.”
“I’m not going to holler at your housekeeper.” She slapped a chart against his chest, which he scrambled to catch.
“Mrs. Beecham’s in room three with an ingrown toenail. It’s inflamed and pretty well embedded.” She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got half an hour before your next patient. That should give you time to extract the nail. And double check the heart sounds, would you? I detected a slight murmur. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but you might want to refer her to a specialist.”
He saluted and grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Sure I can’t talk you into taking on some of these patients?”
“I told you, I’m not licensed to practice in Montana.”
“Easy enough to fix.”
She shook her head. “I’m only interested in part-time work. When the girls and I are ready, I’ve got a full caseload waiting for me in California.”
She saw his brows draw together and felt a warning tug in the pit of her stomach. That kiss last night had shifted their relationship. When you locked lips with a man and ground pelvis to pelvis, things were bound to change. But she hoped he wasn’t pinning any long-term expectations on the sexual desire that flared between them.
Granted, it was powerful. But it was hormones, just hormones. Nothing could come of it. Their lives simply weren’t geographically compatible.
Pretending not to notice the stillness that had come over him, she said, “Mrs. Beecham’s waiting. And, Chance? Try not to enjoy my city-girl discomfort too much, would you?”
His expression relaxed into a devastatingly sexy smile. “I’ll defend you to the teeth to the very next person who mentions it.”
Let him have his fun, she thought. There was bound to be a way to turn the tables on him. And once she found it, she’d jump on it gleefully.
CHANCE HAD NEVER seen anything like it. Word had finally spread that there was a new doctor in town—a woman doctor. He’d lay the blame at Maria’s feet—or rather her phone announcements, which were more effective than a newspaper headline.
Since morning, a steady stream of cowboys had trickled in with minor complaints.
And every one of them had offered to give Kelly private shooting lessons. She was being a good sport about the constant reminders of her escapade, but he could tell she was starting to simmer. And damn it, if anyone was going to give her target lessons, it was going to be him.
He still wasn’t sure he understood why she’d misled them all this past month, why she couldn’t have just fudged a bit, told them she was a doctor who was burned out and didn’t want to practice for a while. No big deal.
Then he remembered where she came from, what she was running from—prying people who fed on her misery. She’d had no privacy. Keeping a low profile was the only way she knew to ensure that people were held at a distance. She didn’t trust easily. He wanted to fix that.
He leaned a shoulder against the door of examination room two and folded his arms across his chest, watching the graceful way she moved and the simple smile she flashed. It could make a man go from zip to hard in an instant.
No doubt Rusty Tate was thinking the same thing. Hell, a dab of antiseptic ointment and a bandage could fix the little scrape on the cowboy’s wrist, he thought, as he watched the man hold out his arm for Kelly’s inspection and eat her up with his eyes.
These knee-jerk flares of jealousy were new to him. He’d been watching her all morning, charming every one of the patients who came in—most of them male, several of them twice her age. She was efficient and friendly, gentle and kind, compassionate and capable.
An odd pressure built up behind his sternum, emotions he couldn’t define. There was an anxiety inside him, something that lurked just beneath the surface and made him want to sweep her off her feet and hold her to him until he could figure it out.
He kept coming back to one specific feeling. That Kelly and her girls were like a moment out of time that might never come again. And if he wasn’t careful, they’d slip through his fingers.
He’d thought he was perfectly happy as a bachelor. His life was full with family and friends. And ever since the geezers had started their matchmaking shenanigans, he’d had to dodge all manner of women.
Then Kelly had come to town with vulnerability in her eyes and sass in her mouth. And he’d started to think that bachelorhood wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Damn it, he was falling for Kelly Anderson and her girls like a ton of bricks. He could actually see himself spending his life with them.
Kelly was stubborn and brave and so obviously out of her element here he found himself wanting to hover over her.
Kelly was having none of it, though. Oh, sure, they’d shared a couple of hot kisses and the chemistry between them was undeniable, but that didn’t mean she was simply going to fall into his arms and live happily ever after with him.
Her heart had been wounded.
He wanted to be the man to heal it.
Pushing away from the door, he strolled into the examining room.
“A man could get his feelings hurt when folks he’s tended to half their lives come in wanting to switch physicians.”
“Hey, Doc,” Rusty said, the tips of his ears turning red.
“Tangled with some barbed wire, did you?” He stood next to Kelly and examined the wound, which was swollen and festering. A little peroxide and it would have healed on its own.
“Yeah. It’s just a scratch, you know, but Wyatt sent me down here to get a tetanus shot. Kept going on about lockjaw, which didn’t scare me,” he said, glancing at Kelly. “But he told me I was off the payroll till I got it done.”
“Wyatt’s a smart employer.”
“Yeah, well, I figured I’d just come on over and have Doc Anderson jab me in the arm and be done with it so Wyatt’d get off his high horse.”
“Mm-hmm. But we don’t jab. And this type of shot is best given in the hip.”
Chance bit back a smile at the panic in Rusty’s eyes. The cowboy glanced at Kelly, who was holding a syringe, then back at him.
“Uh…begging your pardon, Kelly…uh, Dr. Anderson. But if I’ve gotta dro
p my drawers, well, maybe…”
“Relax, Rusty,” Kelly said. “Despite what you’ve heard, I’m only the doctor’s assistant.”
“But I heard you were a doctor.”
“In California. Here, I’m an assistant. So I’ll just step out and give you some privacy.” She handed the syringe to Chance. Obviously she was astute enough to have read the expression on his face when he’d first come into the room, because amusement was dancing in her green eyes.
“Don’t jab,” she said only loud enough for him to hear.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he countered, and watched like a man under a spell as she walked out of the room. When he turned around, he noticed that Rusty appeared equally entranced.
“Some woman,” the cowboy said.
“That she is. Roll up your sleeve.”
“I thought you said it had to be in the butt.”
“Changed my mind.”
Rusty shook his head and pushed up the sleeve of his undershirt. “Can I ask you something, Doc?”
“Sure.”
“You got designs on her?”
“Maybe. This’ll burn.” The needle went in so easily Rusty didn’t flinch. Chance congratulated himself on his restraint.
“You best define that ‘maybe’ or you’re gonna be butting heads with a whole lot of competition.”
Chance withdrew the needle and swabbed the injection site with alcohol. “Fine. Do me a favor and pass the word to my competition that Kelly Anderson’s off-limits.”
“Uh-oh,” Rusty murmured.
“Uh-oh what?”
Rusty nodded toward the door. Chance turned and saw Kelly standing there.
And she was not a happy woman. She gave him a look that nearly seared him where he stood.
“I’m off the clock, Dr. Hammond.” She put an extra emphasis on the Dr. Hammond part, reverting to a formality that they were miles beyond. He knew he’d have to do some serious backtracking here. “I’ll speak with you later.”
“Man,” Rusty said when she’d left the office. “You’re in the doghouse now.”
WHEN HE GOT HOME that evening, he had the urge to tiptoe into the house, then chastised himself. It was his house, damn it.