Legacy of Danger

by Jillian David

  Entering the diner, she looked around and shot him a sheepish grin. "You didn't see that, right?"

  "I saw nothing." He couldn't quite pull off the lie.

  Damn it all if her reddening cheeks didn't made her green eyes sparkle.

  Damn it all if her green eyes sparkling didn't make his stupid toes tingle.

  Toes tingle? He must be hypoglycemic from the weight cut.

  "So...?" she said.

  "Yep. Let's." He caught the attention of a waitress, who waved them to an open booth.

  Mariah paused to remove her wool coat, and he took it from her, hanging it on the hook next to their seats. The material gave off that minty scent he associated with Mariah, and he inhaled deeply, hoping she wouldn't notice.

  He hung his coat as well and slid in across from her, wincing when his knee banged the center metal table post.

  "Busy this morning?" he asked.

  "Yes. Shelby's back to what I'm told is her snarky baseline."

  The smile moved unused muscles on his face. "Good luck to us all, then. That's great."

  Mariah nodded, then leaned back and stretched her shoulders; the knit fabric of her sweater briefly outlined her breasts. Christ, they were perfectly proportioned to her body. His tongue turned to sand. Time did a weird warp thing for a few seconds. Or was it minutes?

  Finally, he figured out something to say. "Are you done with work now?"

  "Barring natural disasters or other emergencies, I should be off for the rest of the day." Flicking a finger along the edge of the menu, she asked, "So, were you, uh, working on the ranch this morning?"

  "Morning chores. You bet." And an hour's worth of sweating out some pounds before the chores. "So where are you from, Mariah?" Great intro, man. Way to dive right in there.

  "Utah originally." Before he could ask another question, she said, "How about you? From Copper River?"

  "Yeah. Born and raised here, along with my crazy brothers and sister."

  A quick crease flitted across her forehead. "You've been gone for a while, right?"

  "How did you know?"

  She indicated in the general direction of the diner front door. "Small town."

  Not good news. If she knew that he'd left, she might know why. "I've been gone for a little over a year. New York City."

  "I've never been there. How do you like it?"

  "It's a different world. Lots of suits, faster pace, folks climbing corporate ladders."

  "You didn't answer the question."

  Huh. Okay, he'd bite. "How do I like it? Obviously, well enough to set up shop there." Damn, that came out too sharp.

  She rolled her lips together and stared over at the empty tables.

  Impulse and anger. Two things he needed to work on, pronto. While he was at it, he should also knock down his defensiveness a few notches.

  Smiling at the waitress who filled her coffee cup, Mariah wrapped her fingers around the mug and sighed as she took a sip. What would it be like if he ever earned a sigh like that from Mariah, say, a few inches away from his ear? His groin had the answer. Hand up, so to speak.

  She gave the waitress her order. "Pancakes, sausage, and hash browns. And an OJ."

  "Impressive. Hungry?" He chuckled.

  Ducking her head, she gave a sheepish smile. "Hey, I don't miss any chances to eat. Old habit from medical school and residency. 'Eat when you can, sleep when you can,' as they say."

  "Not sure where all that food will go, but best of luck to you." He turned to the waitress. Damn it, this week sucked. "Two egg whites, scrambled, with veggies. And an apple if you have it."

  A dark eyebrow quirked. "For a big guy, that's a pretty dainty meal."

  "Maybe I'm on a diet." Shut up, he commanded his hollow stomach.

  "Why would you need to diet?"

  And just like that, without his conscious thought, his chest puffed out. "Naw, it's a joke," he mumbled. "Ate earlier this morning." Lie. He didn't want to get into the MMA stuff. Because then he'd have to go into the why of MMA and field more questions he wasn't ready to answer. Later. If there was a later.

  For right now, he wanted to learn more about the woman in front of him, but she had some serious verbal judo skills deflecting conversation away from herself.

  "So, how'd you end up in Copper River?"

  A shrug of a small shoulder. "Loan repayment."

  "I don't understand."

  "I'm with the National Health Service Corps."

  "What's that?"

  "It's for poor medical students." That little nose scrunch nearly did him in. "As a student, if you commit to work in an underserved area, NHSC will pay off the medical school tuition. It's a good deal when you have to pay off school loans."

  "That does sound like a good deal."

  "Sure, until you figure I still have to pay off college. No one helps with that part. But yes, the program is good for medical school loans."

  "How long will you stay here?"

  "I'm obligated for four years, but, obviously, they hope physicians will stay longer. Put down roots." She chewed her lower lip.

  And? Would she stay?

  He had no business asking the question.

  "So, tell me about the Taggart ranch," she said, too brightly.

  * * *

  Why did the question about her loan obligation bother Mariah so much?

  She wasn't ashamed of needing help with her debt from medical school.

  No, what bothered her most about Vaughn's innocent question was the "putting down roots" part of her answer that she blurted out.

  Most NHSC students served near their hometowns. If they were adventurous, they fulfilled their obligation elsewhere, but often returned to where they were from.

  But Mariah didn't have a home, did she? Well, she did, technically, but no way would she ever go back there.

  As she listened to Vaughn chat about his childhood, growing up on the ranch with loving parents and pesky siblings and getting into trouble in school here in Copper River, he painted a picture of what she had missed. A home base. A place where she fit. Even though Vaughn had moved to New York City, he still saw this place as home.

  Even gone for a year, he was part of this town and the people in it.

  Where did she belong, truly?

  Not with her last boyfriend, whose view of a future wife's role didn't involve an independent, smart woman. And that future sure as heck didn't include a woman who moonlighted as an MMA ringside doctor. To him, nothing could be more lowbrow. In retrospect, forget him. She was better off alone than with that guy.

  But the slice her ex made about her not fitting in with his big, wealthy family because of her past and her career? That comment cut deep. Too deep.

  "Am I boring you?"

  She startled, her cheeks warming. "Of course not." Vaughn, boring? It was a testament to how unsettled those thoughts made her that she couldn't concentrate on the intense guy sitting on the other side of the table.

  "Good. Because... just good." His brown and gold gaze raked across her.

  Her heart thumped under the intensity of the space between his words.

  For some reason, she couldn't stop looking at the sensual slash of his mouth, oddly soft in his hard face.

  The food arrived. Thank God for something to do other than gape at the guy. She dove right in, enjoying the pop of bacon and starchy fried goodness of the hash browns.

  Vaughn finished his tiny meal in a few bites and then watched her in silence.

  She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "You want some of mine? That look you're giving my plate... it's like you want to telepathically eat the whole thing."

  He leaned back, eyelids half-mast. Vinyl booth material creaked as his weight shifted. "Not what I was thinking at all." With a quick buff of the apple on his shirt, he bit into the fruit with a too-loud crack, all while keeping his focus on her. The way the muscles in his jaw moved as he chewed shouldn't have looked sexy.

  But it did.

  Oh.
>
  Was it warm in here, or did she have too many layers on? She tugged at the neckline of her sweater.

  Nope. No layers.

  In for a penny. She set her utensil down. "Care to share what you were thinking, then?" Could he see her sweating? Man. This brunch was higher pressure than an interview.

  He took another bite. "No." A bit of apple pulp clung to his firm lower lip.

  "P-pardon?" If he didn't brush that piece off, she'd do it herself. With her mouth.

  Stop it.

  "No." Abruptly he sat forward, arms on the table, leaning close to her. He licked his lip. Apple piece gone. "No. As in, what I'm thinking as I watch you polish off a delectable breakfast should best wait for a second date. Or maybe a third."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah, oh." He gestured with the apple and leaned back again, resting the same arm over his broad chest. "Don't let me interrupt your meal. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can ask you out again."

  Hungry? Sure, she was hungry, but for something other than the food on the plate in front of her.

  Her phone rang, making her jump. Sliding out of the booth, she fished the phone from a coat pocket. "Sorry," she said.

  With another laconic crunch that made her jealous of the fruit, he waved for her to go ahead.

  Ten seconds was all she needed for the nurse to give her the information. Time to head back to the hospital.

  "I'm so sorry to cut this short, Vaughn."

  "Natural disaster?" His brows drew together.

  The guy had a great memory. "No, this falls in the category of 'other emergency.'"

  "So you're bailing on me."

  "No. Yes, but." She pointed at the phone. "The hospital."

  The slash of his mouth hardened. "I see." Did he think she was blowing him off? Because, no way.

  "Um, thank you for the meal. Can I pay for mine?" She glanced at the half-eaten feast.

  "Of course not." He set the apple core down on his empty plate, tossed some bills on the table, and stood next to her while she shrugged into her coat. The scent of his shaving cream made all the blood rush out of her head.

  "Thanks again." Why couldn't she catch her breath?

  "Maybe we can do this again?" he asked. Why did it sound like a formality? Like he wanted nothing to do with a second date now.

  "Sure. I can give you my number..."

  "No need. I know where you work."

  Chapter 8

  During Tuesday morning rounds, Mariah skidded to a stop halfway down the hall. She rubbed her eyes.

  Because what she saw couldn't be happening.

  Garrison pushed Shelby—the patient who had only awakened from a coma yesterday—in a wheelchair, flanked by none other than a fierce Vaughn. As a matter of fact, his scowl seemed to create a bubble around the three of them. Nurses and techs gave him a wide berth.

  The good feelings from their pleasant but odd brunch yesterday drained away in an instant.

  She hurried to the trio. "What are you doing?" It was unfair how she had to tilt her head to glare at Vaughn.

  He crossed his arms over a tight-fitting, gray thermal shirt and smiled. Like he had some kind of power over her, with that... chest. Or like he had leverage, since they'd had a date? Not really a date-date. More of a meal together.

  Not really a full meal, either, more of a quick snack before she had to leave early. Did he always eat apples like that? Because she could go for watching him demolish a Red Delicious again.

  Okay, so not a date. More of an apple-viewing party interrupted by a phone call from the hospital.

  Damn it. How long had she stood here, staring? For Pete's sake, she was a professional.

  She rocked back on her heels. How dare they move her patient?

  Fair enough. Shelby looked pretty fit right now, which significantly lowered Mariah's fear for her patient's life, freeing space to think about things like Vaughn's pecs. She mentally shook her head. But still, Shelby's condition had been critical not twenty-four hours earlier. Her vision was only just now returning. That woman needed to rest and recover. In bed. Where she could be flippin' monitored. By medical devices to keep her from being dead.

  She shouldn't be out on a stroll with her brother. Brothers.

  Vaughn's spine snapped straight as he locked his glitter-swirling irises onto Mariah. A shiver worked its way through her, but regardless of how he made her feel inside, she would remain in control of this hospital situation.

  "You guys. What the heck?" she tried again.

  "We're taking our sister to see the patient in that room." Vaughn tilted his annoying chin toward Eric Patterson's ICU bed. Today, his words came out ice cold, a totally different man from yesterday. As if they'd never had a date... meal... apple together.

  Fine. She could play this game.

  "This may not be safe. I didn't give permission for her to be moved." Mariah spaced her legs shoulder-width apart and fingered the bell of her stethoscope that hung from her neck.

  "We didn't ask your permission." Vaughn crossed his arms over that damned chest.

  Garrison did a land-based fish impression as he stared at his brother.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  From the wheelchair, Shelby jerked her head up toward Vaughn. She squinted, but her expression held an air of concentration, like she sniffed the air between Mariah and Vaughn.

  For his part, Vaughn opened his stance and leaned forward, like a fighter about to begin a round. A physical contest would end badly for one of them, Mariah had no doubt. Where had the nice guy gone who took care of the bully, cleaned spilled coffee, and then nibbled a Weight Watchers breakfast?

  Beneath his narrowed gaze, she fought the urge to pull her lab coat tight around her. No, she needed to assert some control to preserve the safety of her patients. Damn it, she was responsible for their recovery.

  "You sound familiar." Shelby said.

  To put a hand on Shelby's arm, Mariah had to brush elbow to elbow with Vaughn. He moved not at all. Damn the heat radiating from his hard body.

  "I'm Mariah West, one of the family doctors. I checked on you yesterday morning, but you were still pretty groggy. I'm also the ER doctor who has been seeing far too much of you Taggarts over the past several weeks."

  "So why are you working here and not the ER, then?" Vaughn raised his hard chin again, tempting her to put a fist into it.

  Would a simple thank you be too much to ask?

  Best recovery was a good offense.

  All right, Mr. Grumpy Expert. Let's play ball.

  She popped a fist on her hip. "Mr. Taggart. Being that you live in New York City and all, you're probably used to big city medicine, but this is a rural hospital." She emphasized the word with the perfect amount of snark balanced with professional confidence. "We're not exactly flush with specialists, so we all wear multiple hats around here."

  "Well, then how'd you have an orthopedics guy around for Shelby?" Vaughn lifted his chin. "He's a specialist."

  On the edge of her field of vision, Mariah spied dual horrified expressions on Shelby's and Garrison's faces. Really? They were surprised that big brother was a surly mess?

  Time to educate.

  She stepped close enough to feel his heat and smell that clean scent of shaving cream that made her mouth water. And no, she didn't miss how he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. The tight, worn jeans fit so well on his lean hips.

  Not caring about things like pride, she went on tiptoes and pinned him in place with some surliness of her own. Emotions from the hectic pace of work, the fear of practicing far outside of her comfort zone, her personal carry-on baggage that she lugged around every day, and the stress of caring for critically ill patients with little backup all wadded into a messy clump. Might as well smear her own issues on top and bingo! Crap cupcake, complete with rich and tasty defensive frosting.

  She forced a slow, deep breath in and out of her lungs and tried to count to ten. Made it to five. Close enough.

 
; "We were very lucky," she bit out, somehow managing to stay this side of professional. Barely. "Our orthopedist happened to be in town after his outreach day in the clinic. He canceled his weekend plans so he could stay and patch Shelby up in the OR and then check on her over the weekend, and we appreciated him doing so. Didn't we? Yes. You're welcome."

  She lifted her hands as a warning for him to keep his mouth shut. "Anything else you want to discuss, like how I schedule my day? Or maybe how we obtain prior authorizations from insurances? Please let me know." Swiping her palm over her cheek, she tried for another count of ten. Nope. Still couldn't get past five. "No requests? Then let me tell you about the way we pulled together every last damned resource in the county to keep your friends and family alive. What? Big talker suddenly has nothing to say?"

  She didn't miss how Garrison exhaled the word shit.

  For Mariah's part, her lower back was damp with sweat. But way to go with the standing up part.

  "Uh, no. Nothing else," Vaughn mumbled as he broke eye contact. The sensation of being hit with a wall of danger ebbed away, along with that stupid stress headache.

  Shelby grabbed Mariah's hand. "Even if my boneheaded brother is too stupid to say it, thank you for making sure we all got patched back up. This time and also a few weeks ago when my nephew came in." She peered at Mariah. "And thanks for taking care of our dad when he had the stroke."

  "And taking care of my girlfriend," Garrison added.

  Vaughn's mouth twisted like he'd sucked an entire lemon. Good.

  "My pleasure." She managed to smile sweetly at Shelby and Garrison but slid an almost-snarl past Mr. Big and Suddenly Silent.

  "So, how's Eric doing?" Shelby asked.

  Mariah stepped back and let go of the woman's hand. A foot away from Vaughn, the temperature dropped ten degrees. "Stable. I've been in contact with the specialists in Casper, and we've done all the tests and treatments they recommended. We talked about sending him to Casper, but neurology said it's more a matter of giving him time to wake up."

  "How much time do they think he needs?" The shimmering worry in Shelby's eyes triggered a lump in Mariah's throat.